


Crash

by SuperFYB



Series: Crashverse [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dash of Humor, Gen, M for Language and Brief Depictions of Graphic Violence, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Suspense (kind of), touch of drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-04 04:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5319797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperFYB/pseuds/SuperFYB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 12, AU. </p><p>Wash sighed deeply. Here he was, in the pitch-black darkness with a piece of shrapnel lodged in his side, in the middle of a shallow, unprotected canyon in the badlands...and his only companion happened to be a deaf amnesiac. </p><p>What else could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping by!  
> I'm new to AO3, so if there are any formatting annoyances, let me know. Comments in general are more than appreciated, so please feel free to share any thoughts you might have! (I'd really like to know what you think of this.) :)

The blues were out doing recon when Tucker got a call from Kimball that a ship had crossed into secure airspace on the outer perimeter. Not ten seconds later, they heard explosions in the distance, and then a shriek as metal scraped the earth.

"What was that noise?" shouted Caboose, looking in the opposite direction.

"Ooh, ooh! Give me the sniper rifle!" Tucker ordered Wash.

"No! I'm using it right now."

"Come on! I never get the sniper rifle!"

"Then you should be used to the disappointment," Wash told him coldly. Tucker peered over his shoulder and tried to see down the ridge. Even without the rifle, he saw the pillar of black smoke start to rise in the distance.

"Guys…I think something explodeded," Caboose reported.

"No shit, Caboose," Tucker turned to berate him.

"Looks like it might have been a small drop ship, but there's not enough left of it to tell," Wash informed them. "Did we take it down?" he asked Tucker.

"Kimball, you get all that?" Tucker relayed to the Forward Operating Base.

"I've got conflicting reports coming in. I'll get back to you when I've got better intel."

Wash lowered his rifle. "I want to check it out."

Tucker protested, "Man, you just checked it out! And we've already been out here all day. You said it yourself, there's nothing left to see."

Caboose gasped loudly, "Maybe there's a dead body!"

"If it disintegrated on impact, what in hell makes you think there would be a body left?" Tucker replied.

"Or…maybe another ghost! Oh, oh! I will name them Ghosty! And they will be friends with Church, and then they can fight over who is my bestest best friend! It will be amazing!"

"Caboose," Wash started with his politely condescending voice, "You do know that Church is an AI, right?"

"…Yes." Caboose went silent.

"Look, you can go back to base, but I'm checking out that crash site," Wash told Tucker.

Tucker crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. But, in all seriousness he responded quietly, "At least wait until tomorrow. It's almost dark, and we've been picking up Felix's guys out here for weeks."

Wash tensed up as he said it, but whispered back, "What if Caboose is right? What if there's somebody out there?"

"There are people out there! Bad guys!" Tucker gestured excitedly.

"I'm going," Wash told him stubbornly. "Caboose, you coming?"

Caboose: "Uhhhh…." He looked from Washington to Tucker, and back to Wash. Then he scooted over to stand next to Tucker. "I just remembered that ghosts are really mean to me."

"See?" Tucker smirked at Wash, "Caboose knows what's up." Wash stared at him silently until he realized what he'd just said. "Oh fuck, did I just say that?"

"I'll be back by morning," Wash told them.

"And if you're not?" Tucker asked.

Wash shrugged, "Send Carolina."

"Wow. Fuck you, dude. C'mon, Caboose," Tucker shook his head and turned to head back to base. Wash had already started sliding his way down the rocky hillside.

* * *

It hadn't been five minutes since they parted that Wash heard Kimball's voice on his radio. "Since when is Tucker the voice of reason?" she asked him.

Wash started, "What?! How long have you been listening?"

"You all left your radios on."

Wash didn't answer, returning his focus to the ridge up ahead and what might lie on the other side.

"Agent Washington, I really have to agree with Captain Tucker on this. Going into the badlands after dark and without backup is a recipe for disaster. And risking one of our best operatives to do it? This isn't sitting well with me."

Wash stopped. "Look, I understand it, and normally I'd agree with you." He looked up at the smoke, "But something in my gut tells me that this is all wrong. What about that intel I asked for earlier? Did you learn whether it was us that took it down?"

"In a way," Kimball responded. "It was our missiles, but no one gave the go ahead. It's like they fired all by themselves. Maintenance is checking everything out as we speak."

"So, it could've been a friendly?" Wash clarified.

"Even if they weren't hostile, they shouldn't have been in that airspace. As far as I'm concerned, it's a clean hit, whether we fired on purpose or not."

Wash shook his head. Even for Kimball, that was cold. "I'm going radio silent. Washington out." He didn't give her the chance to respond before he signed off. How was no one else feeling the bad vibes of this? Unidentified bogey comes in, and it just happens that missiles launch by themselves? No. Wash was going to get to the bottom of this. One way or another.

He reached the peak of the next hill and looked down—speaking of getting to the bottom of things—Large metal fragments littered the mesa below him. He hadn't seen it through the rifle, but there was actually a big chunk of the cockpit that had survived the initial crash. It was now in flames, pinned against a cliff face. "Well, that doesn't look good," he muttered to himself. Looking west, he managed to catch the sun dip below the horizon; twilight was setting in. Wash cursed. Maybe Tucker and Kimball had a point… But it was too late to do anything about it now.

Sliding down the hill, he rushed to the cockpit. Make no mistake, it was smashed well and good. But not quite good enough to rule out hope of a survivor. Fighting the flames, he ripped off pieces of siding. A minute or two into it, he glimpsed the blackened silhouette of a helmet. "Hello!" he yelled, "Can you hear me?" There was no response. "Shit!" Despite the likelihood that the pilot was dead, Wash went back to work with renewed vigor.

After ten minutes, he'd managed to clear enough away to reach the body. Cutting the seat belt, he leaned in and grabbed under it's arms, pulling it head first out of the hole he'd made. At this point, the flames had grown higher, and the sky much darker. Wash hadn't dragged it fifteen feet before the fire hit a gas line. The rest of the cockpit exploded, knocking him and the body another ten feet back.

* * *

"What a jack-ass! I mean, I never claimed to have the best decision making skills, but at least I'm not trying to get myself killed! And then he says to call in Carolina for backup? Like we're not good enough to help 'Mr. Freelancer!' What the hell's up with that? He's the one that fucking trained us! And he can't rely on us for backup?"

Caboose was looking down at his hands as they walked. "Two, four, seven..fourteen...six?…" He gasped, horrified. "Tucker! I only have six fingers!"

Tucker reevaluated his former statement and made the correction: "And he can't rely on me for backup? What a complete asshole!"

It was a half-hour back to the warthog from their spot up on the hill, and Tucker continued to rant the entire way. By the time they arrived, the sun was setting, and he couldn't help but feel guilty for not going with Wash. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "That stubborn son-of-a-bitch." And then he yelled at Caboose to get in the warthog.

They arrived back at base about an hour later. Agent Carolina and a scowling Epsilon on her shoulder were waiting for them in the garage. She looked at the back of the Warthog confusingly before turning to Tucker, "Where's Wash?"

Tucker crossed his arms over his chest. Caboose answered her, "He's at the crash site looking for ghosts."

"And you let him go alone?!" asked Carolina, a hint of anger coming through.

"What the hell, Tucker?" Church chimed in.

"Oh, don't give me that! Wash doesn't need someone holding his hand for a fucking night mission."

"I'll hold your hand, Church!"

"Shut up, Caboose!"

"He said he'll be back before morning. So until then, screw you and your stupid judgement. I've been out there all day; I'm tired, and I'm hungry, and I'm done." Tucker stormed out of the garage.

"What's got him so worked up?" Church asked.

"It's probably because he told Washington not to go to the crash site, but Washington didn't listen and left anyways…Or because I threw up in the jeep."

"Well, shit," Epsilon looked at Carolina who was looking down thoughtfully.

"It got all over the dashboard," Caboose kept mumbling.

* * *

Tucker headed for chow hall. It'd been ten hours since his last meal, and when he got through the line, he had a mountain of food on his tray. He noticed Grif and Simmons arguing at one of the tables in the back corner, so he went to join them.

"Oh, hey Tucker."

"Hey Simmons. Grif."

"Tucker. Dude, you gonna eat all that?" Grif looked longingly at the glorious pile of food.

All of a sudden he didn't have the appetite. "No," he told Grif, sliding the tray across the table. He rested his head in his hands. The sinking feeling in his gut told him he really shouldn't have let Wash go alone. If their roles were reversed, Agent Washington wouldn't have hesitated to follow him.

"Ugh, chew with your mouth closed, you fucking pig!" Simmons scooted away from Grif, who was lost in the mess of food. He noticed Tucker's defeated posture. "Umm…are you okay, man?"

"I'm fine," he replied, scooting his chair back forcefully. Then he left the hall, muttering curses under his breath and slamming the door on his way out.

He showered, changed, and headed to his bunk, but the second he laid his head down, he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep. So he put his armor back on and headed towards the western watchtower.

Palomo was on lookout when Tucker burst through the door. The Lieutenant yelped in fright, and then sighed in relief. "It's just Tucker," he reassured himself.

"Give me the sniper rifle," Tucker ordered him.

"I'm not supposed to be relieved for another three hours, Captain," Palomo said, confused.

"Yeah, well…new orders: Give me the rifle."

"Uh. Yes, sir." He handed over the sniper.

"Aw yeah!" Tucker muttered, bringing it up to his visor. "Shit! How do you zoom in?" He turned around, but the Lieutenant had left. "I fucking hate you, Palomo!" he yelled after him.

It took another half hour for Tucker to figure out the zoom, and after that, things became very quiet. The later it got, the less movement there was outside. Other scouting groups were calling it a night and retiring to the base. But he wasn't watching for a warthog or a mongoose; he was waiting for a lone figure to come stumbling back, tired as hell, but none the worse for wear.

Two more hours passed without a sign of Agent Washington. Palomo's relief came in and Tucker cursed them out and went back to watching the horizon. "Come on, man. Where are you?" Not long after that, Carolina came in.

"So you're the crazy guy that took over the west tower? Why am I not surprised?"

"Go away, Carolina."

"What happened to going to bed?"

"Look, if you're here to bang, let's get to it. If not, then you can see yourself the fuck out."

Sighing warily, she couldn't help but shake her head. "Why can't any of you just act like normal human beings?"

"Because they're not normal human beings," Church popped up on her shoulder.

"Oh, you're one to talk!" Tucker snapped at him.

"Even in my situation, I'm more normal than you!"

"Your situation? You're a glowing midget strapped to this bitch's shoulder!"

"Oh shit! Did you just say that?"

They both tensed up and turned to Carolina to gauge her reaction. She took an intimidating step towards Tucker, when Church stepped in, "Come on, is killing him really worth it?"

She growled.

"Oh, you know what? Screw it! I'm not gonna pussy-foot around you just 'cause you can kill me. If you're gonna do it, then fucking do it already, because I've got other shit on my plate right now!" Tucker turned his back on them and resumed his lookout.

Carolina and Church could hardly believe their eyes. Neither could remember a time when anyone dared to turn their back on her. She left the tower without another word. Church stayed.

"Is this all about Washington?" he asked his friend.

"What makes you think I want to talk to you, Church?"

"I don't know! Maybe because talking's the only thing we've ever really been good at?"

Tucker didn't answer.

"We can make fun of the reds. That's always fun. And it's just so easy." He waved in front of Tucker's face, "C'mon, man! Talk to me!"

"What the hell do you want me to say? You want me to tell you I feel like a dick for letting Wash go off by himself? Or that I'm mad as hell he didn't listen to me? Or maybe that if something terrible does happen to him, it's gonna be my fault?"

"If you're that worried about him, why don't you just go?"

"I said I'll give him 'til morning, so I'll give him 'til morning. Until then, I'm going to assume he's fine."


	2. The Way Home

When Wash woke up, it was eerily dark outside. The explosion had consumed the last of the fire, and cloud cover concealed any light source from the sky. He shifted to get up when he felt a sharp pain in his side. Flipping on night vision to see what the damage was, he cursed to himself. A piece of shrapnel had completely impaled him, and was now lodged in his abdomen. If his suit hadn't self sealed with foam, he guessed he would have already bled out by now. Rolling over, he got into a position he could stand from. That's when he saw the charred armor lying next to him and he remembered what he'd been doing there in the first place.

He managed to crawl over next to it. Up close, he was surprised to find that most of the damage seemed superficial. The armor was scorched and black from the fire, but the under armor was mostly intact. A few scratches here and there but not a lot of bleeding, which was a good sign. For a minute he began to hope that this person might still be alive. Wincing, he shifted to get in a better position to take the helmet off. "Please don't be dead," he mumbled.

To his surprise, underneath was a woman. More importantly though, she was still breathing. Wash bowed his head in relief before looking back at her. She had a swollen lip with a cut through it, and a much deeper gash on her forehead. What worried him was the blood on his hand when he pulled it away from the back of her head. He turned her over so he could get a better look, but her short hair was soaked and matted with congealed blood. A head wound might explain why she was still unconscious. He laid her back down gently and then grabbed her helmet to see what could have caused so much blood. In the back of it was a dent the size of a baseball. "Well, that'll do it," he muttered. Just then, she started to come to.

She blinked, and then gasped for breath, shooting up to a sitting position. "What the hell?" she exclaimed.

Wash put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and scooted away. "Who are you?" she asked loudly.

He cringed. This was not a good place to be yelling. He put a finger over his mouthpiece to inform her of a little discretion. Then he answered the question, "My name is Agent Washington."

She squinted at him, deep in thought. "What?" she finally asked.

"I said, my name is Agent Washington," he repeated, a little louder and more annunciated.

She shook her head, "I got 'asian' and 'shit-ton' out of that."

"A-gent Wash-ing-ton," he repeated more slowly.

"Agent Washington?" she asked.

He nodded, a little relieved he didn't have to repeat himself again. "What about you?"

She looked puzzled again. He sighed, "Can. You. Hear. Me?" he emphasized the words.

Her eyes widened as she realized that might be the problem. "Oh shit! No, I don't think I can."

He winced at how loud she was being, and then gestured for her to shush again.

"Oh," she said more quietly. "Sorry," she tried to whisper. It was still loud, but not as much as before, so Wash figured he'd go with it.

If he had the time and equipment, he'd reconfigure her helmet as a hearing aid, but that wasn't the case. And with that dent in the back of it, he didn't know what good it would do her anyway. For now, he had to try and figure a way they could communicate. He'd picked up a little sign language over the years, but he didn't know if she knew any. Even if she did, it was too dark to see clearly. He _would_ just take her back to base, but for all he knew she could be the bad guy here.

For a moment he was at a loss. Finally, he asked, "Who. Are. You?"

She hesitated, and reached nervously at the back of her head. "Ow," she muttered, before pulling her hand back. It was so dark, she could only just make out the blood on her glove. She looked fearfully up at him, "Agent Washington? I think I hit my head." She started to panic.

"Hey, hey. It's okay," he said, forgetting she couldn't hear him. "Don't freak out," he took her hand to try and calm her down. She was shaking.

She pulled her legs in, and hid her face in her knees. When she started mumbling incoherently to herself, Wash scooted closer, moving his hand to her shoulder. "It's okay," he told her, raising his voice so that she might hear him.

She shook her head. "It's not," she whispered. "I don't know who I am."

Wash sighed deeply. Here he was, in the pitch-black darkness with a piece of shrapnel lodged in his side, in the middle of a shallow, unprotected canyon in the badlands. And his only companion happened to be a deaf amnesiac. He went to radio base, but discovered that all comms were being jammed; that meant nothing good.

Grimacing, he managed to stand. The girl noticed the trouble he was having, and then the wound. "You're hurt," she said, concerned.

He didn't answer. Even if he had something to say to that, he knew she wouldn't hear him.

She stood up too, although she looked a little wobbly. "Can you walk?" she asked him.

"Of course I can walk," he responded defensively. Then he nodded a yes. But when he went to take a step forward, pain shot up his side. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees. "Maybe I can't walk," he muttered to himself. "No. We need to get moving." He pushed himself back up, remembering: pain is temporary. Standing up once more was agony, but he pushed through it anyways. He'd been through worse.

The girl still watched him with concern, but when he successfully limped over to her, she understood his resolve. "Can we call for help?" she asked him. He shook his head. "Where do we go?" He pointed vaguely towards the east (not that she could tell the direction).

They hobbled over to where the hills weren't as steep. It was a slow going, but Wash had a feeling that the sooner they got out of there, the better off they'd be.

* * *

"How much longer 'til sunrise?" Tucker eventually asked him.

Church sighed, "A couple hours."

"Could you be a little more specific?" Tucker asked, annoyed.

"A couple is two, dip-shit," Church retorted.

"Not when you're talking about time! It just means around two. That's not specific at all," Tucker argued.

"Maybe if I'd said 'a few' hours, you'd have a point. But I said 'a couple.' And a couple always means two!"

"A few is three, everyone knows that!"

"Are you fucking kidding me? Do you realize how contradictory that is?"

"Do you realize how contradictory your face is?"

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"Whatever, dude. Why don't you just fuck off?"

"Hey! It's not my fault you're pissed at Wash."

Tucker got quiet. "He should've been back by now."

"Look, it's like you said: Wash is a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"You don't get it, Church! I can't be responsible for another…No one else needs to die just because I screwed up. Especially not Wash."

There was a beat of silence before the AI answered, "Thing is, Tucker: I do get it. I had to live through my friends dying over and over again, all because I wasn't good enough. But you know what? In the end, none of that mattered."

"Why?"

"Because they all died anyways. And it didn't have a fucking thing to do with me."

"Wow. Great pep talk. Thanks, Church."

"My point, is that shit happens. And you can either wallow in self-pity, or, you can accept that whatever happens is gonna happen whether you do something about it or not."

* * *

Wash lead them towards the road that would take them to base, but they were still a long ways away, and the pain in his side was gradually growing worse. Even the girl from the crash noticed how their pace became slower and their breaks more frequent. At one stop, Wash finally collapsed against a large boulder, clutching the wound tightly. The foam had sealed it from bleeding out, but that didn't mean it wasn't doing damage internally. By now, his whole body felt like it was on fire, and his head was spinning from the pain. The girl slid down next to him.

"We can't keep going like this," she told him. "You're obviously jacked up, and I don't have a clue of where we're headed in the first place. And this fucking one-sided communication isn't working at all. Maybe if it was light outside…but even then, the best you could do is draw me a map to get help. And I don't know where the fuck I am!"

He didn't bother to tell her to tone down the volume. Even pirates couldn't make this situation worse. That's when he heard the guns cock behind him, and he felt the tip of an assault rifle against the back of his neck. "Fuck." It was going to be one of _those_ days.

"Stand up," said the black-armored mercenary behind him.

"Sorry, but I'm having a little trouble with that at the moment," Wash replied. "Maybe if you come back tomorrow we can try and work something out."

"I said, stand!"

It was a struggle, but Wash did as he was told. The girl followed suit.

"Oh, shit. This one's that Freelancer," said one of the goons upon getting a closer look of Washington.

"Call Locus," ordered the man behind Wash, who was clearly in charge of this rabble. Looking around, Wash counted five of them in total. If not for the shrapnel in his side, he would have managed to take them out easy enough. But it and the girl meant he needed to be more cautious. The grunt headed up the hill to get a better signal.

With their ambushers more or less distracted, the girl leaned in close to Wash. "These are bad guys, right?" she whispered, surprisingly quietly. Washington nodded. "Are you alright?" she asked, in a way that implied she was questioning his readiness to move. To this, he nodded solemnly. For a moment, he thought she winked at him, then she leaned into the merc closest to her. "You don't have any water, do you?" she asked, almost flirtingly. The pirate was a little caught off guard. "Sorry, I guess I'm kinda your hostage. Weird thing to ask." The man coughed, trying to ignore how close she was getting to him. "It's just…I ran out back in the canyon, and it's, you know, been awhile."

"I thi—" his voice squeaked, and he cleared his throat, "—I think I can spare you some water…" He looked towards his leader, who was still perched menacingly behind Wash. Wash heard a grunt behind him, and then the lackey started ruffling through his pouches.

After a minute, the girl shifted her weight away from the grunt, and leaned back towards Wash. "It's alright if you don't have any. Really, I'm sure I'll be fine without."

"No. I'll find you some water." The pirate searched more frantically through his many pouches. After she let out a sadly pathetic sigh, he called over the two others that were standing around. They all huddled together, searching their gear for a canteen.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," their leader huffed, exasperated. And for that brief moment, Wash could feel the weight lift off his neck.

"Now!" he yelled, ducking away from the rifle and then ripping it out of the pirate's hands. In one smooth motion, he tossed it to the girl and pulled out his own battle rifle. She caught it and fired at the leader's chest. He fell back forcefully, with a loud thud as his helmet hit the boulder behind. After three reports from Wash's gun, the grunts were all taken care of, their hands still riffling through their pouches.

For a moment, all was silent, and they looked at one another in relief. The sky was finally getting lighter, and for the first time that night, there was hope in the air. As the adrenaline started to fade, Wash was fully able to appreciate the splitting pain that was coming from his side. He started seeing tunnel vision just as he remembered there had been five pirates, not four. "The one on the hill!" he warned her, but she couldn't hear. As if on cue, three more rounds fired off. In that split second, Wash managed to push the girl out of the way, taking two bullets to the chest in the process. Reflexively, she turned around and fired, taking out the last of the mercenaries. But not before Wash's body slumped to the ground.

"Oh God, no!" she crouched down next to him. "Washington!" she tried to wake him up, "Agent Washington!"

* * *

Tucker was exhausted. By now it'd been over twenty four hours since he last slept, and his fuming over Wash had been nothing if not taxing. Even Church had logged off to get some rest.

They were still perched in the western watchtower when the faint glimmer of dawn first touched the sky. Tucker noticed the change in brightness, and his heart skipped a beat. Church awoke to a loud bang, as Tucker's helmet collided with the wall and the aqua soldier yelled, "Dammit, Wash!"

Not twenty minutes later, the rest of the reds and blues had piled into warthogs and were making their way towards the badlands.

Agent Carolina drove the rest of blue team, with Caboose riding shotgun and Tucker in the back. Church had refused to let him drive, much to Tucker's chagrin. But after jumping back into Carolina's armor, he wondered if he wasn't being hypocritical. She hadn't slept either. Caboose on the other hand, was plenty rested, and wouldn't stop reminding them how excited he was to take Freckles out for a morning drive.

Grif followed closely behind them with the other Reds. Despite Sarge's reservations, he had turned off their theme music; it was too early for the blaring Spanish tune. Riding gunner, Simmons couldn't help but notice how unusually quiet everyone was being. It wasn't until that morning they'd learned of Wash's solo excursion, and that it must have been the reason behind Tucker's fowl mood. Simmons couldn't blame him. If it had been Sarge out on his own…actually, he really wouldn't have cared. But Wash was different; the kind of guy you didn't want to leave behind.

They were an hour or so in towards the direction of the crash site when Caboose first caught a glimpse of a dark, lone figure hobbling down the dusty road. Carolina sped up to meet it, Grif hot on her tail. As they got closer, a girl in black-scorched armor and a missing helmet waved frantically to them.

* * *

Earlier that night, back when Wash was still attempting to talk with her, the girl from the crash site had heard him mention several times 'heads and twos.' Only now, as jeeps filled with colorfully armored soldiers approached her, did she realize he must have meant 'Reds and Blues.' Her head and heart were pounding as she waved her arms madly to try and flag them down. She hoped to God that these people really were his friends.

When they were within hearing range, she screamed at them, "Agent Washington is down! Two kliks that way!" she pointed behind her. The pale blue driver nodded to her, not bothering to stop. The second jeep yielded next to her, and the Red soldiers hopped out. Whatever they were saying, she couldn't hear. When the one in gold approached her she collapsed in his arms.


	3. The Girl From The Crash Site

The girl from the crash site opened her eyes abruptly. The room around her was so bright, she couldn't help but blink.

"Where am I?" she asked, but it came out as little more than a whisper her mouth was so dry. She thought she heard noises, but they were dull, as if from a dream. But as her eyes adjusted to the lights, she saw that she was in a medical bay. There were six beds in total in this ward, and she was in the one farthest from the doors at the end of the room. Of the three across the way, two were empty. The middle one however, was occupied by a soldier with a broken leg suspended in front of him and a breathing apparatus around his face. He was being treated by someone in light brown and purple armor.

She turned her head to the right and saw there was another empty bed between hers and the patient's closest to the doors. But it was hard to see who was in that far one, as they were surrounded by soldiers in various shades of blue. Another attendant was with them, only this one had white armor with purple accents. She seemed to be gesturing to the blues excitedly, but the girl from the crash couldn't hear.

Squinting, she realized there was something familiar about those blues. She was on the verge of remembering when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Starting with fright, she swung her head around, only to find that there was a golden soldier sitting to her left.

"Whoa! Who are you?!" she put up her fist defensively.

"- -'m Gri- -," she managed to make out, although it was hard for her to hear him.

"Grip?"

"N- - - - rif!"

Ugh, she thought, then threw out a shot in the dark, "Grif?"

He nodded. "- -o ar- - ou?"

"I can't hear you," she sighed, not even bothering to try anymore.

The man in gold stood and yelled across the way, and they were soon joined by the excited doctor. She could tell that two began a moving conversation, as their heads bobbed up and down whenever they spoke. After trying and failing to follow who was talking and when, she eventually gave up and returned her gaze to the patient by the door. By now, all of the blues were stirring and glancing over her way. The one in aqua armor had had his back turned to her, but when he noticed the others perk up, he turned as well. That's when she caught glimpse of a dark grey helmet with yellow accents on it resting by the bed.

All of a sudden, the memories came back in a flash. First the crash; then waking up to Agent Washington. They had walked for a long time, but then there were men in black and… Oh no.

She sat up in her bed, despite the pain she felt in the back of her head. Touching the doctor's arm, she asked, "Is that Washington? Is he alright?"

The doctor pushed her gently back down into her pillows, but she couldn't stay that way. She needed to know that he was alright. Fighting to sit up again, she saw that the blues were standing, trying to see what the commotion was. "Please," she begged the doctor, "Is Agent Washington okay?" She felt Grif grip her shoulder and she turned to look at him. He had his hand up, gesturing for her to calm down. His head was bobbing up and down again, but she couldn't hear a damn thing he said.

"I can't hear you!" she said, frustratedly. It was like a bad dream she couldn't wake up from.

She forced her way out of Grif's grip, and attempted to get past the doctor, but she only opened herself up to be pushed back down again.

"Please! I just need to know he's okay!" she begged them.

One of the blues came over; the driver from before. They came and took the place of the doctor, reassuringly putting their hand on her all while keeping her pinned. All of a sudden, a little blue man popped up on their shoulder. They nodded to it, and then it zoomed straight for her head.

* * *

She was back in the flames. The plane had crashed and she was stuck. Her head was pounding and she was trying to remember something… What was it? She had started to panic and thrash when a blue-gloved hand reached through the windshield and pulled her out.

Everything went white. And now she found herself standing in a vast nothingness.

"Hello?" she called out, and it echoed.

"Hey, there," she heard a voice behind her.

She turned around to see a soldier in light cobalt armor. He was holding a long sniper rifle in his hands and his head was cocked to the side, looking at her curiously. Casually, he swung the rifle over his shoulder, and he approached her.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking around at the blankness uncomfortably.

"We're in your head," he answered.

"But there's nothing here…"

"I wasn't gonna mention it, but…yeah. That is pretty weird."

"Wait, who are you?"

"Oh, me? I'm Church," he held out his hand.

She shook it. "I'm…" she tried to remember, but she only found herself back in the flaming cockpit. Church had to pull her back into the white, where she collapsed to her knees. "I don't know who I am," she whispered defeatedly.

"Hey, it's fine," he told her gently.

"It is not fine!" she snapped back at him. "I literally woke up to falling out of the fucking sky! And, as if that's not bad enough, I can't hear either? Seriously?! Like, what the fuck?!"

"Okay, so maybe it's not fine…"

"You're damned right, it's not!"

"But, take it from someone who remembers everything…forgetting isn't always a bad thing."

She stood and wiped a tear from her eye. "That's lovely. Lovely sentiment from…what the hell are you? And why are we in my head?!" She started looking around again.

"I'm an AI unit called Epsilon. I came in through your neural implant, which was surprisingly still intact. Basically, I'm here to translate, if that's cool with you. At least until Doctor Grey can whip you up a hearing aid."

"Wait, so you can tell me what's going on?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Thank God," she sighed in relief. Then she thought about it. "Can you do it in real life? Or are we stuck in this place?"

"Oh, yeah! I just thought I'd come and introduce myself. You know, get a lay of the land."

"What is that supposed to mean? Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?"

"No!" he said defensively. "Maybe a little. But only to make sure you're not hostile or whatever…" He trailed off after that.

"Well…I guess that's alright. Not like there's anything in here anyways."

Church looked down at his feet awkwardly.

"Sooo….Can we leave now?" she asked.

He nodded.

* * *

She reawakened, and everything became distorted again. Muffled voices seemed to echo in her head, and she wondered if her interaction with Church was just a dream. Then the little blue glowing man popped up on her lap.

At this point, her whole bed was surrounded, and she noted that the darker blue had migrated from Washington to stand by Grif. His head was bobbing continually, and she almost thought she could make out his voice. Was he talking about ghosts? Seriously, what the—

"Shut up, Caboose!" she heard Church's voice and nearly jumped out of her seat.

"Whoa! Why can I hear you?"

Church turned around to face her. "I'm relaying what I'm saying into your head in real time. You aren't really hearing me, but your brain thinks you are, if that makes any sense."

She nodded. Then to clarify, "So, everyone here can hear you."

"Exactly."

She breathed deeply. "Okay,"

All of a sudden, the rest of the group's heads started bobbing.

"Oh my—Would you all shut up?! One at a time, for fuck's sake!" Church began to yell at them. But the nodding up and down just became more impassioned. Soon Church was bickering with the lot of them. Meanwhile, her mind wandered.

She looked back over towards Washington. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't alive, but…still. The aqua armored blue was the only one left by his side. For a brief moment they made eye contact, and she looked away, embarrassed. The next thing she knew, he was coming over to join the rest.

Upon his presence, all but Caboose stopped and turned to listen to him.

Church nodded then turned to her, "He wants to know what happened to Wash,"

"He pulled me out of the wreck just before a fuel line burst, at least I think that's what it was. The shrapnel in his side is from the explosion. The gunshot wounds came from black-armored soldiers. They ambushed us on the way to the road," she explained. "Church…is he okay?" She felt like she'd been asking without a response for ages. Agent Washington had saved her life twice; she needed to know.

The AI hesitated in answering, "He's…he's not okay. He's in a coma."

She looked up at the doctor, "What does that mean exactly?"

"She says it means it's taking his body a little longer to recover," Church translated for her.

"But he will recover, right?"

"It's too soon to tell," Church told her, and she could feel the atmosphere of the room shift uncomfortably.

* * *

Grif was the first to speak after that. "Ask her what her name is," he ordered.

"She doesn't know," Church replied.

"How would you know?"

"Because I've been in her head! There's literally nothing in there!"

"You do know I'm sitting right here," the girl commented.

"What was she doing out there?" Tucker asked.

"What part of 'She doesn't know.' do you not understand?"

"Well, she has to have remembered something," Carolina pointed out.

"She remembers the crash-"

"Why don't you let her speak for herself? Aren't you only supposed to be translating?" Grif asked, annoyed by Church's run around.

"Fine," Church turned to her. "They want to know everything you remember."

"There was an explosion. When I came to, my plane was on fire and I was falling out of the sky. I tried ejecting, but the seat malfunctioned. I remember skidding into a cliff face, and that's it. At least until Agent Washington woke me up."

"What did I tell you?" Church asked everyone. "Jack shit."

"Ask her if she wants to join red team," Grif told him. They all turned to look at the orange soldier.

"Seriously?" Tucker asked.

Grif shrugged, "What? We never get girls on our team."

"And that's a bad thing?" For that, Tucker received an elbow to the gut from Carolina.

"What are you talking about? You guys have Donut," Church told him.

"Oh, come on! You know it's not the same! It's like having all the boring stuff without any of the perks."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Carolina defensively.

"I think you know what it means! Bow chicka bow w-oof!" Tucker received another elbowing.

"Dude, she has amnesia," Church said protectively.

"Oh, it's not like I'm gonna do anything to her! I'm just saying, it might be nice to have a girl around for a change."

"I'd reconsider," said Caboose. "You don't want to catch amnesia."

"You can't catch amnesia!" Church yelled at him.

"What the hell are you all talking about?!" the girl yelled in exasperation. "Church, you are by far the worst translator in human history!"

"Oh, how would you know?" he snipped back.

That's when she gave him the glare to end all glares. The anger that resonated from her brow caused everyone around her to unconsciously lean away. Even the man with the broken leg across the room shifted uneasily in his bed. Caboose disappeared completely.

The AI shivered. "Sorry," he whispered back fearfully. "I'll try and do better."

The girl from the crash huffed, and her face went back at ease. The whole room breathed a sigh of relief. "Please, just try to clue me in on what's being said? It's really all I ask."

Church nodded. "Uh, Grif here," he pointed, "wants to know if you want to join red team."

"What does red team do?" she asked Grif.

He shrugged. "Pretty much, nothing."

After Church repeated for her, she nodded. "Sounds fine to me."

* * *

Felix walked back and forth behind Locus who stood stoic as ever, his arms folded across his chest. "Would you stop that ungodly pacing?" he complained gruffly.

"No, I will not. Thank you very much!" Felix retorted. His hands were fidgeting at his sides as he crossed the room again. "Five KIA? What the hell were they even doing out there?" he fumed.

"That doesn't matter now," Locus growled. "What matters is that the stage is set."

"'The stage is set,'" Felix repeated mockingly. "Who even talks like that? Oh, and by the way, your fucking stage sucks! This whole thing is going to blow up in our faces."

"As far as I'm concerned, it's already working in our favor. Given enough time, we'll have more than we need to crush the United Armies of Chorus…and the simulation troopers."

Felix stopped and pointed his knife threateningly at his partner, "We better, or it's on you."


	4. The Deal

Doctor Grey had just finished showing the girl from the crash how to adjust her new hearing aids, and they were both utterly relieved at the idea of not having to spend more time together. Grey had discovered that for the most part, the girl was a calm and amicable patient; she understood her situation and dealt with it as well as Dr. Grey imagined anyone would. However, the longer they spent together, the more the doctor noticed that she displayed some rather odd nervous ticks.

First of all, the girl really liked to hum. But what caught Grey off guard, was that she started doing it even while she was talking to her.

"Would you mind not humming while I'm trying to speak with you?" she would ask in her singsong voice.

"What?"

Grey sighed, then repeated more clearly, "Please. Don't. Hum."

The girl would stare at her strangely. "I'm not humming."

"Yes you-" Grey started, but was interrupted by her humming.

Secondly, she would notice the girl seemingly staring blankly at the ceiling. But when she attempted to get her attention, the girl would throw a fit.

"Can't you see I'm counting?!" she would yell.

Grey looked back up at the ceiling. It was completely blank; there weren't even tiles to count. "What are you-"

"Gah! Again?"

The thing that got Grey the most though, was that she would unconsciously re-appropriate historical quotes as her own.

"Ask not what your doctor can do for you;" she would start before turning, dramatically looking into Grey's eyes, "ask what you can do for your doctor!"

"Kennedy?" Grey would suggest hopefully.

"How the hell would I know?"

Needless to say, after four hours of physicals, blood tests, hearing tests, and configuring the aid, Grey was at her wits end.

Finally she asked, "Can you hear me now?"

"I can! I can totally hear you!" The girl lit up and gave her an awkward high five. "That sucked! But it's cool. Are we done here?"

Grey nodded. "Come in for a check-up tomorrow morning at eight. Until then, you're free to go!" she said happily.

"Sweet! Catch you on the flip side, Doc!" she waved and left the medibay.

The minute she was out of hearing range, Dr. Grey screamed away her frustrations at the top of her lungs. She had no more patients for the rest of the day.

* * *

Tucker rarely left Wash's side since they'd picked him up in the badlands. Ever since he'd lost the majority of his platoon, he'd been more conscious of mortality in war. Now more than anything, Tucker didn't want Wash to die. Not just because he was his friend, but because he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if the last thing Wash heard from him was"'Fuck you, dude."

What frustrated him the most about this whole situation was that he didn't know who to blame. Wash had been a stubborn jerk, and Tucker hadn't been any better; but in the end his thoughts always found their way back to _her_.

Around base everyone kept talking about "the girl from the crash site;" how Washington had risked his life for her, and how she was seemingly "in" with the reds and blues now. Almost everywhere he went, he was confronted by people wanting to know more about her and what her connection to Agent Washington was. In the end it was Carolina who told everyone to fuck off and leave him alone.

But Tucker's reputation as a notorious skirt chaser hadn't helped in this matter either. He dreaded going back to his bunk each night, as people would make snide remarks whenever he came close. "Is she hot?" they'd ask jokingly. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how hard would you hit that?"

The truth was that this was one skirt he wasn't looking to chase. She wasn't a woman at all to him, she was just the person that might be responsible for getting his friend killed.

So on this night of nights, as visitors were asked to leave the medibay, Tucker couldn't help but feel the knot in his chest tighten. "Hang in there, buddy," he whispered to his comatose friend before leaving.

He hadn't gotten very far when he heard someone behind him call his name. Completely put-out, he just yelled, "Fuck off!"

"Captain Tucker!" the voice rang out clearer this time.

He cringed. "Shit, I messed up," he muttered before turning to face Kimball. "Hey there! Didn't...didn't know it was you…" he trailed off half-apologetically.

"It's fine," she told him. "You've been under a lot of stress lately, I get it."

He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "So...what can I do for you?"

"I wanted to talk. About the crash. About the girl."

"Okay…"

"Come with me to my office," she waved him over so they could walk together.

* * *

"You did what?!" Sarge yelled at Grif.

"I don't see what the problem is," he responded coolly.

"You asked a girl to be on red team?" Simmons remarked nervously. "What were you thinking?"

"Are the feminine wiles of Donut not enough for you?!" Sarge continued to yell.

"Oh, come on! You know it's not the same! I'm talking about an actual woman here! We've never had one of those!" Grif whined.

"Yeah," Simmons' voice cracked, "Maybe there's a reason for that."

"Simmons is right!" Sarge agreed, "Name the last time we ever had a good experience involving a woman!"

"Well, Carolina-"

"Dragged our asses around for months on some fool mission!"

"But she's-"

"A dirty blue!"

"Okay, okay! Fine. But, I'm telling you, this girl is different!" Grif protested.

"How would you even know?" asked Simmons. "Didn't she just wake up yesterday?"

"Look, I know how it sounds, but I just have this feeling…"

"Is it comin' from yer nethers?" Sarge asked gruffly.

"What? Oh God, no! Nothing like that!"

"Dude, Sarge is right. You totally have a crush on her."

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"Can it! Both of you! Captain Grif, aside from the fact that she's a female, what makes you think we can trust her?"

"She has amnesia! Think about it: a total clean slate. There's nothing not to trust!"

"I'm not sure that makes sense," Simmons thought aloud.

Sarge grunted. "I'm calling it," he said, "Veto!"

"What?! You can't veto this!"

"I think you're forgetting, son: I outrank you! And I call veto!"

"But that's not-" Grif started to protest before he was interrupted by Simmons.

"Grif, I have to agree with Sarge on this. Having a girl on the team is a bad idea. So...technically, we're both kind of outvoting you."

"WHAT?! Simmons, you fucking kiss-ass!"

"Hey! You know I have a hard time talking to women!"

"I can't believe-you know what? Scratch that! I can totally fucking believe this. Here I am, actually _trying_ to be proactive, (what the hell was I thinking?) and you guys go and mess it all up!"

"Normally, I'd applaud the initiative," Sarge told him, "but giving a hoot doesn't make up for faulty decision making skills!"

"Like you're one to talk…" Grif grumbled under his breath. He huffed angrily before found his resolve. "Fine," he told Sarge. "I'll make you a deal."

"A deal? What could you possibly have to-"

"The girl gets a spot on red team," Grif continued. "And if she doesn't work out…" he hesitated, "then I'll go too."

"What are you doing?" Simmons interjected.

Sarge looked him up and down. "You mean to tell me, that if and when this whole deal goes south, you'll walk away? I'll never have to see you again?"

Simmons shook his head, pleading, "Don't do it, Grif!"

Grif mustered up his courage, then answered, "Yes."

"Deal!" Sarge answered eagerly. "Well," he said happily, "this just made my day!" He left with a disturbing bounce in his step.

"What were you thinking?!" Simmons yelled. As much as he annoyed him, Simmons didn't know what he would do without him. "All of that, just for a girl you don't even know?!"

"Look, I…" Grif shook his head. Even he was having a hard time justifying this in his mind. "Hey," he said nervously, "What's the worst that could happen? I get kicked off of red team? So what? I never wanted to be here in the first place." And with that, he departed as well, leaving Simmons alone in the men's room.

* * *

"What we are about to discuss doesn't leave this room," Kimball told Tucker after he'd taken a seat across from her desk. "Do you understand?"

"Uh, yeah," Tucker agreed, somewhat intrigued. "Is there some spy shit going on?"

Kimball sighed, "Two weeks ago, what we believed to be a small jump-ship crash landed in the badlands under suspicious circumstances."

"Suspicious circumstances? I thought we took it down?" Tucker asked, confused.

"Our missiles did. But no one here gave the go ahead. At first we thought it was a systems glitch: radar detected the bogey and missiles were subsequently triggered to fire. We've had problems with the launch system before, so I didn't think much of it...at first.

"Regardless, I sent maintanence in to do a check-up; fix the glitch. Instead, they found this," she handed him a device the size of a large coin.

"What is it?" Tucker flipped it around to see it had a small, blinking purple light in its center.

"I've been told it's a short-range remote activation device."

"So, someone hacked your missiles."

Kimball leaned back in her seat. "The device itself isn't what disturbs me. You know we've had our fair share of sabotage, and the ordinance is old; it could have been placed months ago. No, what gets me is the range. Whoever set off those missiles had to've been within thirty meters of the device."

"Um...is that...uh-"

"That's really really close, Tucker."

He coughed, "Oh. Okay. So..."

"So," she said pointedly, "Carolina's been covering security ever since she got here. I don't think even Locus could slip through her defenses-"

"Bow chicka...ooh, never mind."

"And that means that whoever set off this device is…"

"Gay?"

"...One of us."

"Oh fuck! You're talking about...traitory? Treachery? Tretchatory?"

"A traitor in our midst; a mole."

Tucker nervously touched the handle of his energy sword. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're the only person I trust."

He looked her dead in the eye, "Seriously?"

"Tucker, you risked your life to save my men. And you and your friends have done more to help Chorus than we've done to help ourselves. So yes, I trust you."

"Okay," he nodded. "What do you need me to do?"

She sat up in her seat. "I need you to find the mole. And I need you to figure out why they wanted that ship to crash."

He shifted restlessly in his seat. "That's kind of a tall order, don't you think?"

"Of course it is. But I have faith you can handle it."

* * *

When she left Grey's office, she found that Grif had been waiting for her outside. She came up and smiled at him.

"So... can you hear me now?" he asked awkwardly.

"Sure can," she replied. Then she said thoughtfully, "You know, your voice is more high-pitched than I thought it would be."

"It is?!" he squeaked. "I mean," he coughed and then repeated deeply, "it is?"

She laughed at him. "I'm just messing with you!"

He sighed. "Cool. I mean...yeah."

"Wanna show me around?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah! You hungry?"

"What?"

"Are you hungry?"

"What?"

He hesitated, "Are you hungry?" he said more clearly.

She frowned, and then shoved her finger in her ear. "Mother-okay, try it again?"

He sighed, "Are you hungry?"

She just shrugged.

Oh man, he thought, what have I done?

"Do you have any cheez-whiz?" she asked.

Well, he reconsidered, maybe she won't be that bad.


	5. The Mission

Grif took the girl from the crash site to the chow hall first. He was relatively popular there; at least in the sense that everyone knew exactly who he was. Bursting through the swinging double doors, he stepped inside and struck a triumphant pose. "What up, bitches?" he called out before the doors swung back and knocked him off his feet.

He reentered a moment later, a little less gloriously, and waved for her to follow him. Heeding closely behind, she couldn't help but notice the icy glares that fell on her guide from around the cafeteria. The worst came from the servers behind the counter.

"What are you doing here?" one of them asked as Grif approached. They folded their arms over their chest indignantly.

"Just showing the new girl around," Grif told them. She stepped beside him and waved to the servers.

"Who's this?" asked a second server.

"She's…" Grif started, then looked at her. She shrugged, not knowing what to tell him. "She's the girl from the crash site."

"Oh! I heard about that," said the first server. "Ain't that what put Agent Washington in a coma?"

She shuffled her feet uncomfortably. It was hard for her not to feel a little responsible for Wash's current state, but that didn't mean she liked the idea of people blaming her for it.

Luckily Grif read her mood and stepped in, "Well, technically it was getting shot in the chest by pirates that did that, but, you know, whatever."

"Hey, I meant nothin' by it," the server insisted.

"S'just that with Wash out of commission, they got Carolina runnin' training drills," the second explained.

"What?!" Grif was taken aback. "Seriously?"

They nodded.

"Oh, you poor bastards," Grif shook his head.

"Who's Carolina?" the girl asked.

"Just the toughest bitch in the whole fucking army!" the second server put in his two cents. "Speakin' a which, she's been lookin' for you, Grif."

A shiver ran down his spine at the words. "Me? Why would she do that?"

The guy just shrugged.

"Well, she's just gonna have to wait," he told himself more than anyone else. "I mean really, the one time I'm actually doing something!"

"Is that a good idea?" the girl asked. "If this chick is really as mean as you say…"

"Ha!" they heard a voice behind them. "This 'chick' is much worse."

Grif and the girl from the crash site turned around slowly. The two servers vanished from sight.

"Oh! Hey there, Carolina," Grif's voice went shrill. "We were just talking about you."

"Hey, I know you!" the girl pointed. "In the medibay, Church was with you!" She smiled proudly to herself upon successfully recognizing the Freelancer.

"Perceptive," Carolina said sarcastically.

The girl frowned. "You don't have to be mean about it," she huffed.

"What do you need, Carolina?" Grif changed the subject.

"You and the rest of the Reds have a mission briefing in an hour, and since Wash isn't around at the moment, that is now my job," she said the last bit through gritted teeth.

"Well that sucks!" Grif complained. "Why are we going on a mission anyways? We just went on one!"

"What do you mean? Are you talking about picking up this one?" Carolina pointed to the girl. "That wasn't a mission!"

"Yeah it was! I drove the jeep and everything."

"Leaving base and coming right back is not a mission; that's just going out for a drive." Carolina argued.

"Whatever," Grif gave in. He was too lazy to keep arguing for long. "Wait a minute! If you're doing all of Wash's jobs, who's doing yours?" he asked.

"What's her job?" the girl asked curiously. They both turned to look at her.

"She carries Church around," replied Grif. "Right?"

"Excuse me?" Carolina sounded offended. "You think my only job is to carry Church?"

"...No…You're also a badass?"

"Damn right, I'm a badass," she mumbled to herself before turning to go. "Oh," she paused, turning back, "Kimball wanted me to tell you she's granting your request. Welcome to Red Team, uh...what do we call you?"

All eyes were on the girl from the crash site now. When she realized what was happening, her eyes went wide with panic. She didn't have a single notion of what her name was, and she wasn't exactly good at coming up with stuff on the spot. "Ugh..." She could swear there was a cricket chirping in the distance, and was it getting warm in here? "Call me…" she trailed off, still thinking. "Crrr-aa-shhhhh," she sounded it out.

"What was that?" Grif asked for both himself and a confused looking Carolina.

"Crash?" she tried it off her tongue. "Yeah. Crash," she said, nodding to herself decisively.

"Crash. Really?" Carolina asked dispassionately.

"What? You all have funny names, so don't look at me like that! It's not like everyone doesn't call me 'the girl from the crash site' anyways. Now, next time someone asks me who I am, I'll just say, 'Crash,' and it'll be self-explanatory. Bada-bing bada-boom."

"No, we get it," Grif explained. "It's just not very original."

"Now, look here, Mr. McJudgins. I have close to literally nothing in my head. So don't start me with that 'it's not original' bullshit. Every damn thought I think is fucking original!" she yelled. The rest of the chow hall stopped to look at her. She quieted and then scratched her head awkwardly. Coughing in embarrassment, she muttered, "Apparently I lost all my inhibitions as well as my memory."

Grif patted her on the shoulder. "It's okay, buddy. It happens to the best of us."

Playing along, she sighed sarcastically, looking deep into his eyes, "Thanks, Grif. I really needed that."

"Well, I'm here for you. And don't you forget it!"

Then they embraced dramatically.

"What the hell am I looking at?" asked Carolina, a little mortified.

"Shut up, Carolina! Can't you see we're bonding?" Grif fake cried before tightening their hug.

Without another word, Carolina left the chow hall.

"Is she gone?" Grif asked.

"Yeah, it looks like."

They released each other and Grif smiled contentedly, "Man, I love messing with people."

Someone at a nearby table coughed and they realized everyone else was still watching them. "Do I have something on my fucking face?" Crash yelled at them, putting her fists on her hips threateningly. They all returned to eating and she chuckled at them.

"Ya know, you're kinda scary," Grif told her, "but not in a bad way."

"Were you hungry?" she asked him.

"If there's one thing you should know about me, it's this: I'm always hungry. But let's get out of here. I think we've overstayed our welcome."

She nodded, and followed him out another set of doors.

* * *

"Look, I'm done," said the figure in the darkness. "I've done everything you asked me to do. And you said you were gonna pay me, but so far, I've got nothing. I just can't keep doing this for you." He continued to ramble.

Finally Locus interrupted him. "I believe you're confusing me for someone who cares. Let me make this clear," he grabbed the figure by the throat. "You don't have a choice in the matter," he growled before releasing the man.

He fell to his knees and touched his neck tenderly. "This isn't what I signed on for," he managed to cough out.

Locus squatted down in front of him so he could look him in the eye. "No. You wanted to make a quick buck. But that's not how war works. You're a real soldier now, and real soldiers complete their missions. You'll get your pay when it's over." Locus stood back up, so that he now looked down upon the man.

"You don't get it," the man groaned, "people are starting to take a closer look at what's really going on. I can't risk them finding out what I've-"

Locus kicked him in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious. Then he nodded to one of his underlings who was standing by the jeep, "Make sure he gets back to his base."

* * *

Tucker sat next to Wash, his foot bouncing nervously. He'd been on edge before Kimball tasked him with finding the mole; now he felt like he'd crossed a line into complete panic. It didn't matter how still he sat or how deeply he tried to breathe, he couldn't escape the drumming in his chest.

"How the hell am I supposed to find the mole?" he whispered to Wash. "I'm more the dashing rogue type, not a spy!"

He buried his face in the pillows by Wash's shoulder. "This sucks," he said, his voice muffled by the fluff.

"Wow," he heard Church start, "You look fucking terrible, man."

Tucker sighed and lifted his head from the pillows. He was surprised to see Church by himself. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Same thing you are, I guess," Church muttered, looking at Wash. "How is he?"

"Hmm, let me see...Oh, right. Still in a coma!"

"Gah! Would you stop!" Church snapped back, "Everyone gets it, Washington's your pal! Could you stop bitching about it for one fucking second?!"

Tucker glared at the AI.

"Don't give me that! You know you've been acting weird since this whole thing started!"

"So what?"

"What do you mean, so what? So, I'm supposed to be the angry one around here! And you're supposed to be the pervy one! That's how this works!"

"I don't know if you realize this, Church, but we are not in Blood Gulch anymore! We don't get to have designated roles. We don't get to stand around all day and make jokes at the Reds. This is a real fucking war now. When people die, they stay dead! So excuse me for not following your fucking system."

"I thought it was _our_ fucking system," Church said defeatedly.

"It hasn't been ours since you left," Tucker grumbled.

Churched paused for a moment, "Holy shit. That's what this is about, isn't it?"

"What are you-"

"You're still mad at me for going off with Carolina!"

"I never said-"

"You have got to be kidding me!"

"Dude, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Admit it."

"Admit what?"

"Admit that the reason you're so upset is because Wash left you just like I did."

"Seriously?" Tucker asked, astonished. "That's what you're getting out of this?"

"Well, I-"

"No no no," Tucker shook his head angrily. "It's my turn to talk, you self-centered asshole! Did you even stop to consider that not everything is about you?!"

"I-"

"No, you didn't. Because you're Church, the most important guy in the whole goddamn universe!

"You want to know the truth, the honest to God truth? Well, here it is: I'm mad that pirates put a hole in my friend, and I wasn't around to stab them!"

Church looked down.

"You self-centered prick," Tucker whispered before he buried his head back into Wash's bed.

"You know what, Tucker? I'm sorry for giving a crap. Trust me, it won't happen again."

When Tucker lifted his head back up, Church was gone. He sighed frustratedly, wondering if Church might've actually been right.

* * *

The rest of the Reds had all gathered in the briefing room. Simmons was pouting with his head in his hands as he watched the door. Donut sat with Lopez across from him, subconsciously nodding along to a song in his head while the robot sat still in his seat, muttering to himself in Spanish. Carolina stood at the head of the table, glowering down at them while Sarge waited anxiously by Lopez.

"Where are those two!" Sarge finally asked disdainfully.

"Grif's lazy, but he's usually not this late," added Simmons.

"Maybe they'll slip on in, right in the nick of time!" Donut suggested optimistically.

"Please, shut up," Simmons whimpered.

" _Just start without them, you idiots_ ," said Lopez in Spanish.

"You're right, Lopez," Sarge nodded, "Grif is a dirtbag!"

"I hate my life," Lopez replied.

Carolina sighed impatiently. "If they're not here in the next two minutes we'll have to start without-"

She was interrupted by the back door swinging open. Grif and Crash came in, panting.

"Sorry," she said between breaths. "Lost track of time!" 

Grif stood behind her, gasping for air. "Yeah," he wheezed, "that's totally what happened," he affirmed.

 

What really happened:

"It's getting late," Grif told her, "We should probably start heading to that mission briefing."

"Ooh! I'll race you there!" she said excitedly before dashing away.

"Wait!" he called after her, "You don't know where you're going!" 

 

They looked at each other knowingly.

"Well, take a seat," Carolina told them. Sarge grunted disapprovingly.

"As you all know, Wash is still out of action, which means we're all responsible for picking up the slack. And, since none of you are qualified to train anyone, that means you get to take over my field missions."

"Aw man!" Grif complained.

"Can it!" Sarge ordered.

For once, Grif did as he was told, figuring he'd caused more than enough trouble already.

"Now that you've got a new addition," she nodded to Crash, "you'll be splitting into two teams of three."

"Who's on what team?" Simmons asked, glancing nervously at the girl.

"Sarge will let you know at the end of the briefing," Carolina answered. The Reds could decide their own team structure; she wasn't going to touch it with a ten foot pole.

"The first team," she continued, "will be heading back to the crash site. We need to find out what you were doing in our airspace," she told Crash.

The girl nodded, realizing for the first time that she might not've been there for a good reason.

"Team two will be responsible for guarding a convoy that's heading to the capital tomorrow. Orders are to protect the cargo at all costs."

"What's the cargo?" Grif asked.

"Unknown. But the orders come from Kimball herself, so whatever it is is probably important.

"It's a three day journey to the capital," she told them, "but based on enemy traffic patterns, we're not expecting much resistance. The crash site is a different story. Ever since that ship went down, pirates have been swarming into the badlands. It's most likely you'll have to take out an outpost or two just to get the site, and even then, we're not sure how intact the scene will be."

"Um…" Donut started, "If the crash site is really that hard to get to, is it necessary for us to go there?"

"I don't know," Carolina turned to the girl, "Is it?"

"Yes," Crash answered solemnly. "If there's even a chance of finding out who I am…"

"Well, that settles it," Sarge took over. "Simmons and Grif, you'll go with Lopez to cover that convoy. Meanwhile, me and Donut with go with the new girl to the crash site!"

"It's Crash," Grif told him.

"That's what I said, we'll be going to the crash!"

"No, she's going by Crash now," Grif clarified.

They all looked over at her.

"Seriously?" Simmons asked.

" _What a stupid name_ ," Lopez said dryly.

"I like it!" Donut chimed in. "Short, and right to the point!"

Sarge shook his head. "Well _Crash_ , you're with us." Then he addressed everyone, "For now, everyone get some shut-eye. We'll go over the plan of attack tomorrow morning at 0800."


	6. The Reds

She had a hard time sleeping that night. After Grif showed her where she'd be staying, she grabbed the clothes they'd left for her and tried to settle in. It was odd though, to be in a room full of things that weren't your own. She sat on her cot and looked at her hands. There was a long, thin scar stretching from her palm to her forearm. Touching it, she imagined cutting it on a piece of barbed wire while trying to get over a fence. Then she wondered if that was something that actually happened, or if she'd made it up in her head.

She laid down on her side, curling her legs in close to her chest and listening to the sound of her own breathing. _What is real?_ she asked herself worriedly, tears gathering in her eyes.

No, she thought. Crying is for people who have given up. She forced herself to stand, and then fell forward into pushup position. Then she went down.

One. _Your name is Crash._

Two. _You're on Red Team._

Three. _Washington saved your life._

Four. _You killed two pirates._

Five. _Grif is your friend._

Six. _You like popcorn._

She stopped. _I like popcorn?_ She thought about it. _Yeah, popcorn is good._

Seven. _Church sucks at communicating._

Eight. _Carolina is mean._

Nine. _You could be a bad guy…_

She stopped again. _You don't know that. Think about the things you know._

Nine _...what's nine? You are female._

Ten. _Uh...llamas are weird?_

Eleven. _You are 70% deaf in your left ear._

Twelve. _You are 90% deaf in your right._

Thirteen. _You will have to wear hearing aids for the rest of your life._

Fourteen. _Doctor Grey hates you._

Fifteen. _You don't know who you are._

Sixteen. _That last one was depressing._

Seventeen. _It doesn't have to be._

Eighteen. _You are strong enough to get through this._

Nineteen. _You've been given a second chance._

Twenty. _You will make it count._

She rested on her elbows, a little out of breath. What the hell? she thought, rolling onto her back. Twenty pushups should not be that hard. She flexed her arm and felt her bicep. Then she frowned, _I'm really out of shape_.

Feeling a little more optimistic about things in general, she crawled back into her bunk and snuggled into her blankets. She was going to have to wake up extra early the next day to pick up her armor; might as well try to sleep.

* * *

Crash awoke around 0500 to the sound of yelling outside the barracks. The lieutenants were getting hounded by Carolina while doing their morning drills.

"Pick up the pace, ladies!" she yelled at them.

"Yes, ma'am!" Smith called back, pushing forward.

"I," huff, "don't," huff, "think I," huff, "can do this!" Jensen hobbled on.

Palomo was right behind her. "Come on guys! We can do this!"

Bitters had fallen far back behind them, barely jogging at all. Carolina was right on his heels, yelling as they went, "Move it, Bitters!" He continued at a snail's pace, all while grumbling.

Getting up, Crash showered and dressed. After, she changed out her bandages in the way Grey had instructed. The one on the back of her head proved to be difficult however. After ten minutes of struggling to set it just right, she finally gave up and resolved to go find help.

Of course, the only person she really knew was Grif, so she headed up a few floors to where he said his room was.

She found room 420 and went to knock, but then wondered if it might a little early to disturb anyone. As she reconsidered, someone stepped out of the room next door. It was the maroon soldier she'd seen at the mission brief the night before. He was just as surprised to see her as she was him, and in his excitement, he turned around to go back inside his room.

"Hold up!" she told him, waving.

He groaned nervously before turning back to greet her, "Oh," he started, "Erm...I-hey. Um, I-oh. Hi." He looked down at the ground and then up at the ceiling; at anything but her.

"Hi!" she held out her hand, "I'm Crash."

He took her hand awkwardly and released it almost immediately. "Mmmimmins" he mumbled.

At first she wondered if her hearing aids were out of whack again. "What was that?"

He cleared his throat, "I'm Simmons."

"Hey! Grif mentioned you! He said you were a nerd!"

"Course he did. Fucking jerk," he grumbled.

"Hey, I know this is weird, but do you think you could help me? I've been trying to get this bandage on, but I can't really see what I'm doing. You know, 'cause it's on the back of my head? Yeah…" she trailed off.

"I…" he didn't know what to say. "Um, sure?"

"Sweet!" she nodded, waiting for him to invite her in.

He didn't get the hint though, and they spent the next two minutes staring at each other in silence.

"Are we gonna-?" she pointed to his room. "Or, we can head back to my place, or…"

"Come in?" he finally asked.

She smiled pleasantly at him. "Thanks!"

He opened the door back up for her and followed her inside before closing it again.

At first glance, she was surprised by how organized the maroon man was. His bed was neatly made and there was a short bookshelf next to it full of Red Army Handbooks as well as science fiction novels. A banjo was neatly hung by the window.

"Do you play?" she asked, pointing to it.

Simmons winced at her voice, already dreading his response. "I, um...yes. Yes!" He coughed, embarrassed.

"Far out," she nodded. "So, you got a place to sit down?"

"Oh! Right…" He pulled the chair away from his desk. "Uh, there's more light in the bathroom, if you wanna…go in there…"

She almost commented on his ability to form a coherent sentence, but thought better of it. "That sounds like good idea."

Following him into the bathroom, she plopped down in the chair he'd brought for her. "Okay," she told him, handing him a tube of medical ointment. "If you could just squirt this on there," she gestured a circle around the wound. "Grey said to be liberal with it, so don't be afraid of using too much. And then…" she got the bandages ready to hand to him.

"So, do you want the whole thing covered, or do I have to rub it in…?" he asked squeamishly.

"No, the bandages will rub it in. Draw a spiral or something. Ooh! Or a smiley face!"

"Uh...okay?" he hesitantly squeezed the tube onto the broken skin, only half-heartedly looking at what he was doing. "Oh god, this is disgusting," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"Did you get it?" she asked.

"I think…"

"Okay, just throw this puppy over it and let me know when you need the tape." She handed him the bandage and then patiently waited to feel the familiar stinging sensation as it touched the wound. Despite her preparation, she couldn't help but cringe a little at the contact.

"Oh! Did I hurt you?" Simmons asked worriedly, not knowing what to do.

"Nah, it's fine," she tried to reassure him. "Tape?"

"Thanks," he took it from her.

After a few more minutes of careful deliberation, Simmons was finished.

"We good?" she finally asked.

"I think so," he said uncomfortably.

"Great!" she said happily, lightly springing up from her seat. She turned and smiled up at him, "Thanks!"

"Uh...no problem?"

"Well, I should probably get out of your-" she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, "...hair."

She couldn't stop herself from stepping closer to it to get a better look. All she had in her room at the moment was a little table mirror, and she'd only used it to patch up the cut over her eye. She hadn't really paid attention to...other things.

"They shaved my head!" she blinked at her own reflection.

"You didn't know?" Simmons asked, surprised.

"I mean, I guess it makes sense," she said. "I just didn't think about it." She couldn't stop staring at herself. The face she saw was just as new to her as the scar she'd found on her arm the night before. And now, even if she could remember what she looked like, she doubted she'd be able to recognize herself. She was completely bald, her left eye was blackened with a deep gash just above it, and her lips were swollen and chapped.

"Wow," she muttered, leaning in even closer, "I really don't look too hot." She examined her eyes. They were a cool grey color with a slight hint of green around the edges. Casting a glance further down her face, she saw she had sparse freckles across her nose and cheeks, and her lips were flush with pink. Leaning back away, she couldn't help but make a face. "Dimples too, huh?" she muttered, practicing a smile. She poked her cheek.

"Man, I look butch as hell!" she concluded after a minute.

Simmons stood behind her, shivering with distress. A woman had entered his bathroom and was now examining her looks in his mirror; his day couldn't get worse if someone dropped a nuke on his head.

He coughed, "You-erm, uh, don't look that bad?"

She laughed, remember he was there with her. Nodding, she turned and smiled back up at him. "Well thanks, Simmons. I appreciate that."

"You're welcome?"

Finally, she turned to leave, heading back the way she came. He followed behind her at a distance.

After she stepped out the door, she turned back. "Really," she said endearingly, "thanks for helping me out. It's nice to have people you can count on."

"Don't mention it," he replied, a little more relaxed knowing she would be gone soon.

"If you ever want an audience, you should hit me up," she said, nodding back to the banjo on his wall. "I'd love to hear you play."

"Oh! Uh, sure thing," he answered. He'd not expected her to say that.

She smiled again. "Cool. I'll catch you later," she waved a final goodbye before heading back down the hall, humming to herself.

Simmons sighed deeply. That was stressful...but not as bad as it could have been.

* * *

It was still quite early when Crash entered Sarge's workshop. She'd been told by Carolina to stop by there before the morning report to pick up her armor.

"Hello?" she called out, looking around the seemingly empty workshop. There was a half-dismantled warthog to one side of the space, and random machinations in various stages of being built littered on the workbench. She didn't have time to see more than that, as the red-armored soldier suddenly appeared directly in front of her.

"Where did you-?" she started to ask before she was interrupted.

"You're late!" Sarge yelled at her.

She stepped away apologetically, "I'm sorry, sir. Carolina said-"

"That's what you get for listening to a dirty blue," he shook his head, "Misinformation! Which then leads to insubordination!"

She straightened her posture and stood at attention. "Won't happen again, sir."

He eyed her suspiciously before grunting in approval.

"Well, your armor is finished," he turned to lead her into the backroom of the shop. "Honestly, had to scrap most of what you came in. The helmet was beyond repair, and the old grenadier components too out of date to find replacements for. And what with neither of the Chorus armies wanting to claim you, I had to pull out some of the Freelancer equipment we'd taken from Crash Site Bravo."

"Crash Site Bravo?" she asked, confused.

"Heh heh. You weren't the first to crash land on this rock…I doubt you'll be the last either. Damned pirates!"

"What's 'Freelancer?'"

"Trust me when I say this: You do not want to know."

He walked her to a table in the back corner and flipped on an overhanging light. Laid out in all of it's pieces was her new armor. "Mark VI," she commented, picking up the glove piece and examining it closer.

"I made a few modifications to it myself," Sarge told her, "mostly based on specs of your previous suit. You've got extra compartments for explosives and a rigging set as well as storage. I also had Simmons rework your helmet to accommodate the non-standard night-vision from your old one. As for the flame-thrower," he lead them to another table, flipping on the light above.

"Ho-lee shit," she murmured, gazing longingly at the glorious machine before her. She reached out to touch it, but Sarge smacked her hand away.

"Stay away from it!" he ordered.

"But…" her lip nearly quivered before she regained her composure. "Yessir."

"Good girl," he nodded before turned the light off again. They both returned to where her armor was laid out. "Try it on. Make sure it fits. If you got any problems, go talk to Lopez and he'll get you sorted out. As for the color…"

"I love it," she told him.

"Rust?"

"Copper!"

Sarge shook his head. "If you say so. Either way, you need to get yourself sorted out before coming to the briefing room. 0800; Don't be late."

With that, Sarge left her to it.


	7. The Badlands

_Red Team One. Enemy Outpost 3. 1400 hrs._

"Donut! Get your flowery butt over here!" Sarge yelled.

"I'd rather stay here if you don't mind, sir!" Donut yelled back from the boulder he was hiding behind. Enemy bullets struck the side of the rock, chipping off fragments and sending them flying in all directions. He covered his head with his arms to shield from the debris.

Within the encampment, Sarge was beating in the face of a black-suited pirate with the butt of his shotgun. "That wasn't a request, Private!" He turned on another grunt coming up behind him and fired a round into the man's chest.

"I'll cover you, Donut!" Crash's voice came through over comms.

All of a sudden, the sound of machine gun fire filled the area.

"GO NOW!" she yelled, her voice barely audible over the budda budda budda.

She had hopped up onto the back of an enemy warthog and taken control of the turret. The pirates that had been firing at Donut ran for cover, but two of them failed to reach it before they were mowed down by Crash.

Donut seized the moment to sprint across the clearing and join Sarge within the camp. As he ran, he tossed a few sticky grenades behind the rocks the mercenaries had ducked behind. Seconds later, he was out of sight and the grenades exploded, sending the mercs flying.

By the time Donut reached Sarge, all but one of the pirates had been taken care of, and when he saw the last come up behind his CO, he opened fire. Sarge ducked for cover, and the pirate was hit with almost a full clip from Donut's rifle.

Outside, the machine gun stopped, and Crash took a moment to scan the outpost for any remaining heat signatures. As far as her scanners could tell, all enemies had been taken care of. She radioed Sarge, "We're all clear out here, Colonel."

"Hrmph," Sarge grunted, picking himself up off the ground and looking towards Donut. "Maybe warn a fellow next time?"

"Sorry, Sarge!" Donut replied excitably, "When I saw you exposed like that, I couldn't help but unload!"

"Crash, get in here!" Sarge ordered over comms.

Crash did as she was told and hopped off the back of the Warthog, trotting through the clearing and into the makeshift tent.

"Find something interesting?" she asked, stepping inside and greeting her fellow Reds.

"I guess you'd have to define the word 'interesting,'" Sarge replied, leading her over to a table in the corner of the tent. "Look familiar?" he asked.

They stared down at a small assortment of charred armor fragments.

"I-" Crash started, but trailed off. She picked up one of the fragments and rubbed away some of the black with her thumb. Copper colored armor shined back at her, and she shook her head frustratedly. "It could be mine," she finally answered before handing the piece over to Sarge. "Honestly, I can't remember what my armor looked like before….but the color seems right."

"These guys must have already been to the crash site," Donut poked his head in between them.

"Does that mean we're too late?" Crash asked, more to herself than anyone else.

Sarge growled, then answered, "Just because those no-good pirates beat us to the punch doesn't mean there's nothing left to find. S'far as I'm concerned, the mission's still a go."

She merely nodded, but she wasn't feeling all that enthused. Donut put his hand on her shoulder sympathetically, "Don't worry, Crash. We'll find out who you are." She patted his hand gratefully, but she couldn't help but admit to herself that that's what worried her the most.

* * *

After a few more minutes of inspecting the outpost and rounding up any surviving pirates, Sarge radioed the FOB.

"Calling base! This is Colonel Sarge, over!"

"Reading you, Sarge. This is Carolina. Status report?"

"Just finished clearing out another outpost. Found a few armor fragments from the crash site."

"Another outpost? That's the third you've hit today," Carolina commented, not bothering to hide the fact she was impressed. "I'll re-deploy the cleanup crew when they get back from Outpost 2.

"As for the fragments," she continued, "Did you find anything useful?"

"Not as far as we can tell," he answered grimly. "There's nothing else from the crash here."

"Well," she huffed, "the site isn't that far from your current position. Even if the pirates have been there, I don't think it would hurt to check it out."

"My sentiments exactly," he agreed.

* * *

While Sarge was busy radioing the base and Donut working on tying up the remaining enemy soldiers, Crash took the time to examine all of the fragments in greater detail. Most of the pieces were small, around the size of her thumb nail. There were three or four that were larger though, and one that was nearly the size of her hand. She imagined the smaller pieces had been part of her helmet that had broken off when the back got smashed in. The bigger pieces she recognized as parts of shin-plates.

One by one, she picked each piece up to examine, brushing off the soot as well as she could and analyzing them from every angle. The closer she inspected, the more frustrated she became. In the end, she didn't know what disappointed her more: that she hadn't found any clues, or that she had expected to in the first place.

The anger building within her, she felt ready to snap. Of course, that's when Donut came in. "Ready to head out?" he asked her, chipper as ever.

Crash nodded, not looking away from the fragments sprawled out on the table.

His head turned to one side as he noticed something was off. "You okay?" he asked.

She turned her head to snap back at him, but paused, thinking better of it. She'd spent the last five hours fighting pirates with this man, and he'd been nothing but nice to her. Calming herself, she let out a curt "No," before leaving the tent.

Sarge was waiting for them by their warthog. "Carolina's sending in a cleanup crew to finish sweeping the place," he told them. "Next stop, we're heading for the crash site!"

"Unless there's another outpost between here and there," Crash complained.

"Stow that kind of talk!" Sarge ordered. "Kicking mercenary ass is in Red Team's job description! We knew going in that we'd hit some roadblocks on the way there."

She nodded apologetically, "Sorry, sir. Won't happen again."

Sarge eyed her contemplatively. It was odd to have a subordinate with even a little discipline that wasn't a complete kiss-ass. If Grif wasn't so fond of her, he might actually grow to like this girl.

Donut hopped in the Warthog. "All ready to go, Sarge!" he called over. Sarge just grunted and gestured for Crash to follow him back to the vehicle.

* * *

They'd been out in the field since early that morning. After a brief goings over of the mission, Team One said their goodbyes to the convoy group, and headed out towards the badlands. Donut drove with Sarge riding shotgun and Crash perched at the cannon in back.

They hadn't been driving half an hour when they were ambushed by mercs who herded them back to the first outpost. Luckily there weren't too many men there to fight off, and Crash didn't have a lot of trouble blasting the enemy vehicles with the cannon. From there, Sarge and Donut had taken out the five ground troops with relative ease, and they proceeded onwards.

The crash site itself was normally a three hour drive from the Forward Operating Base, but no matter how hard they seemed to push, the small group of Reds were continually delayed. Now, after taking out two more outposts that were each bigger than the previous, they were more than a little tired.

Morning had seemed to come and go before they knew it, and now the mid-day sun shined harshly down on them. All around were jagged hills and rocks and a desert that seemed completely void of life. And even with their suits' cooling units, it was unbearably hot. Despite all of this, Crash couldn't help but find relative beauty in the wasteland. Amnesia or not, she felt like this landscape was something completely foreign to her, and she was glad to be stationed at the turret so as to have a better view to take it all in.

They rode for another forty minutes before the terrain became too much for even the warthog to handle. Crash and Donut hopped out of the vehicle to stretch while Sarge radioed base again. They'd been ordered by Kimball to call in as frequently as possible. With Wash out for the count, she disliked the idea of risking more valuable assets on a 'fool's errand.' As far as she was concerned, Crash was little more than a liability, and a distraction they didn't need right now.

But when Carolina asked for clearance to run the mission, Kimball couldn't help but give the go-ahead. After all, Wash had been right: there was something off about the crash. And with the mole still at large and increasingly open enemy movements in the badlands, the United Armies of Chorus needed all the information they could get their hands on. If there was even a chance of finding valuable intel from the crash site, it was worth the risk.

After Sarge finished making the call, he lead the group into the thick of the rocks. Not much was said between the three. All were weary after the long morning, and now felt a tingling of hope that they were on the home stretch.

Despite the initial quiet, when Donut noticed a cloud in the distance he couldn't help but speak up. "Look!" he pointed it out to the others who stopped in their tracks.

"It's just a cloud," Crash commented. The others turned to look at her.

"It's not 'just' a cloud!" Sarge corrected her, turning back to look at the vague white blur. "That's our one hope for shade!"

"Do you think it will make it over to us?" Donut asked longingly.

Crash started, "Well, the wind's blowing the wrong-"

"I think there's a chance!" Sarge spoke over her. "May the gods of weather look favorably down on us this day!" he called out to the sky.

Donut nodded in solidarity.

They remained watching the cloud for another five minutes before it began to dissipate into the dull blue sky. Even after it was gone, they stared out at the emptiness.

Finally, Sarge sighed and then continued trudging through the boulders. Donut followed wordlessly behind. "Maybe there will be another cloud?" Crash suggested, catching up to them. Her comment only produced odd glances from her companions. Clearly, she was the crazy one.

* * *

After another half hour of hiking, they approached the shallow canyon where Washington had first come across Crash.

It was clear from the third outpost that the pirates had at least been to the site, but it was impossible to know what they might have left behind in their wake. While caution was never the Reds' strongest suit, they attempted to use it now.

Donut had brought along a sniper rifle from the warthog, and used it to scope out the area for hostiles. Crash checked and rechecked her visor scanners; even armor with cloaking could sometimes be picked up on thermals.

"I don't see anyone…" Donut muttered.

Crash agreed, "I'm not picking up anything either."

Sarge sighed. "Doesn't mean no one's here," he told them. "Donut, you stay here and watch our backsides."

"Oh boy! You got it, Sarge!"

He then gestured for Crash to follow him down into the canyon.

Checking once more for any sign of the enemy, the red and copper colored soldiers hopped down into the mesa.

"Is this it?" he asked her, surprised by how little was left of the ship.

"There was more…" she told him. "They must have taken it for some reason." Her voice was laced with disappointment.

Even the hard-hearted Colonel couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for her. She'd latched her hopes onto the idea of finding something about herself in the wreckage. Now they'd disappeared along with it.

She walked slowly towards the scorch marks on the cliff face, stopping to look at larger pieces of the ship as she went. When she got to where the cockpit had been, she knelt down, searching the ground for something, anything that might give her some kind of clue as to who she was.

Sarge eventually came up behind her. "Look, I don't think there's-"

CRACK!

A sniper shot flew past Sarge's helmet and collided with the stone cliff behind him. "What in hell-!" he yelled.

"Shit!" she exclaimed. The closest cover was at least twenty meters away.

As they ran, several more shots rang out. Sarge called for Donut to return fire. When a panicked voice answered, "I can't see them!" Crash pulled out her battle rifle and shot in the general direction of the sniper. This gave them the cover they needed to get to the edge of the canyon. But as they approached the side, four more soldiers appeared as if out of thin air, having dropped their cloaking.

"This isn't good," she murmured.

"Ya think?" Sarge answered, raising his shotgun defiantly in the face of the enemy.

"Now, now, now," echoed from behind the line of black-armored mercs. "No need for violence," said the voice, ingenuine and sing-song. A man in smokey-grey armor with orange accents pushed through the middle of the pirate grunts. Crash suddenly felt sick to her stomach, and she instinctively stepped back.

Sarge growled, "Felix."

"If it isn't Sarge!" Felix mocked, "Fancy meeting you here." His head tilted to the side as he noticed Crash, then he returned his gaze the the soldier in red. "What brings you to this neck of the woods, if you don't mind me asking?"

Crash interjected, stepping between Sarge and Felix. "What have you done with the wreckage?" She attempted to put on a brave face in spite of herself, but her hands still shook from fear.

Felix whipped out his knife and pointed it menacingly in her direction. "I don't think that concerns you," he answered.

At the sight of the knife, her knees almost buckled. Her mind went blank from sheer terror, and she opened fire on the pirates. Two of them went down almost instantly. Felix used his shield to cover the others. In the pandemonium, the hidden sniper took a shot at her, the round piercing her shoulder.

"Cease fire, you idiot!" Felix shouted angrily before a sticky grenade landed at his feet. "Oh, fuck."

Sarge grabbed a wounded Crash and pulled her up into a standing position. They started running back towards the center of the canyon while Donut climbed down from the other side of the cliff to meet them. He had a teleportation cube in his hands, and he shouted, "Agent Double-O Donut for the win!" As soon as they met in the middle, he set the cube off, transporting them out of there.

* * *

In the blink of an eye, they landed back by the warthog. Sarge picked himself off the ground and brushed away the dirt from his armor, and Donut steadied himself by the jeep. Crash remained on her knees, ripping off her helmet and gasping for breath.

"You okay?" Donut asked her.

She didn't have time to answer before the contents of her stomach spilled out over the ground. The other Reds both jumped back to avoid the splash.

"Well that's just disgusting," Sarge commented.

Donut rushed to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She was shaking like a leaf. He turned worriedly to his CO, "Sarge, she doesn't look too good."

"Get 'er in the jeep," Sarge pointed, then joined in helping Donut lift her up into the passengers seat. Stepping over the vomit, he went back and grabbed the helmet she'd thrown away. "We best get moving," he told the lightish-red soldier.

Donut nodded in agreement before hopping into the drivers seat. Sarge radioed back to base as they drove.

Barely conscious, Crash looked down in her hand. For a brief moment relief overwhelmed her. Thank God, it was still there.


	8. The Puzzle Piece

_Felix's Squad. Badlands Crash Site. 1530 hrs._

The Reds disappeared in a flash of light, and Felix couldn't stop himself from exacting his rage on the nearest corpse. In one swift motion he forcefully threw his knife down into the black visor of one of the downed pirates. The two he'd saved from Crash's fire backed away fearfully.

"Get down here Stevens!" Felix yelled in contempt at the sniper on the ridge. "This is fucking perfect," he then muttered, grabbing his knife from the grunt's head. As they waited for Stevens to hike down to their position, he radioed his partner.

"What is it?" Locus asked.

"It's the Reds. They were here."

Locus sounded surprised, "How many?"

"Three. The red one and the pink one; and another I've never seen before."

"That's...odd."

"I think it was _her_ ," Felix's tone became hushed and he stepped out of earshot from his men.

Locus answered curiously, "Can you confirm?"

"If I could confirm, I wouldn't have said 'I think!'" Felix commented impatiently. "But yeah, I'm about ninety percent sure it was her."

"I'll check my sources." Locus reassured him. "Until then-"

"No. The sooner the better on that source check. I think she recognized me."

"The reports all say she's suffered from memory loss. I don't think-"

"Just check the damn source, Locus! Soon as I pulled my knife out she went berserk. I had to call off my sniper after he put a round through her shoulder-"

"You got her shot?!"

"No, she got herself shot! Thanks to her, two more of our guys are dead! She's lucky I didn't kill her myself."

Locus growled, "We need her alive."

"I know! Jeez- you don't have to keep telling me."

"Apparently I do. We've put too many resources into this venture to have you messing it up the first chance you get. See to it that it doesn't happen again."

Felix glowered.

Stevens finally made it down to their position, and he took his place behind his comrades. "What's going-" he started, before Felix's blade sunk into his skull. The two other pirates stepped away from the dead man, both attempting to ignore their commander's violence.

As the orange and ash colored mercenary stepped towards them, neither met his gaze. He pulled his blade out once more, cleaning it on his thigh. "Let that be a lesson to you," he said to the terrified pirates. "Don't shoot the copper one."

* * *

_United Armies of Chorus FOB. Motorpool. 0830 hrs._

Caboose took in a deep breath. There was nothing quite like the smell of old tires and motor oil to really get your day going. He stood by a warthog with Freckles in his hands, feeling pumped.

The sound of a party horn echoed across the motor pool, and Caboose was surrounded by confetti floating back down to the earth.

Grif, who was standing nearby, couldn't help but take a step away from the soldier in regulation blue. He turned to his maroon companion. "Is it really necessary for the Blues to come along?"

"Hey," Simmons replied, "I didn't give the order. Why don't you take it up with Kimball?"

Grif sighed deeply. "Nah, she's too far away."

Simmons looked over to his left. Kimball and Carolina stood not ten meters away, talking quietly with one another. "Gah! You are so lazy!"

Grif shrugged and pulled out a pack of twinkies.

"What is that?!"

"I'm hungry!" he said defensively. "I only had time for one breakfast this morning."

"You know what? I take it back: You're lazy _and_ fat."

"Wha-evuh," he replied with his mouth full. After swallowing: "I think you're just jealous."

Simmons scoffed. "Of you? I don't think so."

But at the suggestion, neither could help but glance towards the far end of the garage. Sarge was checking Team One's warthog while Donut stood by for assistance. Crash was behind them, punching and kicking the air, testing out her new armor.

"Why does she have to go with them?" they both muttered in unison. Then they turned on each other, "Why do you care?"

Simmons folded his arms over his chest and turned away haughtily. "Who says I do?" he replied.

Grif grumbled before falling back into complacency.

Once he knew he was safe, Simmons turned back to his friend once again. "But seriously," he commented, "Don't you think it's weird how Sarge split up the teams?"

"I know! If anything, I should be going with Crash. I mean, I'm the reason she's on Red Team!"

"I was more talking about Sarge splitting up Donut and Lopez. I mean, Donut is the only one who actually knows a little Spanish. How are _we_ supposed to communicate?"

"It's all just screwy," Grif agreed.

"What's screwy?" Tucker popped up behind them. Simmons jumped.

"Where did you even come from?!" Grif's voice went up an octave.

"Dude, I'm always around," he told them. "So, what are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, just about how Sarge split up Red Team," Simmons answered.

"It makes sense why he'd be taking Crash, but he could've at least brought us along," Grif grumbled.

"Crash?" Tucker asked.

"Oh yeah," Simmons filled him in, "that's what she's going by now."

"Not very original," Tucker commented.

The Reds shrugged.

Tucker glanced over at the copper colored soldier. "And she's one of us now, armor and everything," he said lowly, not bothering to hide his irritation.

Grif saw how Tucker glared down the way and became defensive for his friend. "What's your problem?" he asked threateningly.

Simmons wasn't sure what he was more surprised by, Tucker's disdain for the new girl, or Grif's protectiveness of her. The next thing he knew, Grif had a gun on the turquoise soldier.

"Don't," Grif said warningly, his eyes on Tucker's hand gripping the energy sword at his side.

Simmons backed away from both of them, and their quarrel gained the attention of others around the room. Everything fell silent, and the tension could be cut with a knife.

Tucker hadn't even realized he'd reached for the sword until Grif's safety clicked out of place. Sobering at the sight of the gun, he put his hands up in surrender.

Grif was quick to lower his weapon. "What the hell, man?"

"Captain Tucker!" Kimball yelled. It was clear to her who the instigator had been.

Bowing his head ever-so-slightly, Tucker pushed past the Reds and trotted over to the rebel leader.

"Care to explain what's going on?" Kimball asked him coolly.

Tucker noticed that Church had appeared on Carolina's shoulder. As if he needed the AI to judge him even more. "I just…" he began before trailing off. Honestly, he didn't have an answer for her.

"Do you even know?" Kimball uttered harshly.

Tucker was taken aback by her tone. "Look, I-"

"You've been on edge ever since that ship crashed; I can understand that. But picking fights with your team is unacceptable."

Tucker opened his mouth to apologize, but nothing came out.

Kimball continued, "Until you can pull yourself together, you're suspended from active duty and confined to base."

"Wait, what?"

Church stepped in front of the tan and blue armored woman. "Woah, don't you think that's a little harsh?"

"Back off, Church," Carolina warned from the sidelines.

"No!" the AI told her scornfully. "Tucker's been an ass, but that doesn't mean he deserves to be suspended."

"Stand down, Epsilon," Kimball ordered.

Church refused.

"Stand down or join him."

"Church!" Carolina scowled.

The AI stood his ground.

Kimball puffed, "Fine. You're both suspended."

"What?!" Carolina, Church, and Tucker said in disbelief.

"You can't suspend him," Carolina told the other woman flatly, having composed herself after the initial outburst. "I need him to run my equipment."

Kimball stood up to the taller soldier in blue. "From what I've heard, you managed to handle things by yourself long before Epsilon came around. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Carolina gritted her teeth, stepping so close to Kimball that their helmets nearly touched. "I don't take orders from you," she spoke menacingly.

"Hey! Easy there, Carolina," Church flashed between them. "It's not like we were gonna leave the base anytime soon anyways."

Abated, she turned and stormed out of the motor pool. As she went, the little blue glowy man disappeared off her shoulder, reappearing beside Tucker a moment later.

"Uh...mind if I stick with you for a while?" he asked timidly. "She kind of kicked me out…"

Well aware of their recent argument, Tucker nodded. "Us Blues gotta stick together, right Church?" he said, the true meaning behind his words being clear: we're cool.

"You know it, buddy." Church accepted his friend's 'almost apology.' They both glared at Kimball before following Carolina out the door.

She sighed before turning back to all those who had stopped work to watch the drama play out. "Everyone back to work!" she ordered.

* * *

After the awkward ordeal with the Blues, Kimball and the rest of the Reds gathered around Sarge and his squad to see them off.

"Are you sure you don't want me or Grif to go with you?" Simmons asked his CO. "Carolina said you might run into some trouble on the way to the site."

"I'm sure," Sarge replied bluntly. "Besides, you're needed to guard the convoy!"

"Yeah," Simmons said defeatedly.

Meanwhile, Grif said his goodbyes to Crash. "You ready for this?" 

She nodded. "I gotta get out there sometime, right? And the sooner I figure out who the hell I am, the better. Plus, this armor is bad ass!"

"Yeah, well, don't push it too hard. You've still got that head thing…"

She punched him on the shoulder lightly. "Hey, least it can't get any worse!"

"Great," he joked, "another optimist. You and Donut should get along wonderfully."

"I've been meaning to ask you…is he…you know?"

"Don't ask, don't tell."

"But pink?"

"It's lightish-red!" they heard in the distance.

Grif shrugged. "Look, be careful out there."

"Sarge seems like a pretty tough customer. We should be fine."

Grif mumbled something she couldn't make out before Kimball addressed them all.

"I don't like the idea of sending men into the badlands right now, but I understand the need for this to be done. So be careful, stay in contact as much as you can, and come back to us in one piece. That's an order."

With that, Sarge hopped up in shotgun, and Crash stepped up to the turret. Donut waved everyone goodbye and slipped into the driver's seat. "Don't worry, Lopez. We'll be back in no time at all!" he reassured the robot.

" _That's what I'm afraid of_ ," Lopez grunted in Spanish.

* * *

_Red Team One. Badlands Crash Site. 1515 hrs._

Her heart had already half broken. Seeing that the wreckage was gone was like a brutal awakening into a reality that was worse than she'd imagined. All she wanted was a clue of some sort, absolutely anything that could tell her who she was. Was finding that too much to ask for?

Running to where the cockpit had been, she skidded to her knees, searching with everything she had to try and find any trace of the person who had crashed there two weeks prior. Sarge followed behind slowly, giving her the space she needed to cope with the disappointment they'd found.

The rocky ground was charred black from where they ship had burned, and there were still a few pieces of deformed metal left in the wake. But the majority of what had initially been planted there was gone. The pirates had taken it away for reasons beyond her comprehension.

The clink of her armored fingers against the rock echoed through her new hearing aids as she dug through the first layer of debris. "Please," she whispered to herself, and any deity that might be listening, "Please let there be something."

She felt the presence of Sarge behind her and couldn't help but feel like he was some sort of doombringer. Clawing at the earth and rubble, all she wished for was a little more time to search, maybe even hope. Crawling deeper into the shallow crater, she heard a deep sigh from the Colonel behind her. Don't say it, she thought. Please don't-

"Look," Sarge started warily.

No! she thought. There's still hope! I can find something, I can-

That's when she saw it: a glimpse of scarlet among the black.

"I don't think there's-" Sarge continued, but at that point she was hardly listening.

She had begun to reach for the object just as the first shot rang out.

"What in hell-!" she heard Sarge yell from behind.

"Shit!" In a last ditch effort, she flung her hand out, grabbing whatever the hell it was along with a handful of dirt. Clutching it tightly, she pulled her rifle out with her free hand and made a break for cover.

* * *

_Red Team One. Desert Road, the Badlands. 1630 hrs._

For the last hour, she'd held onto her find with a death grip, afraid that they might be ambushed once more and she'd lose it in the chaos. But now that they'd been driving for so long and the pain from her shoulder had eased considerably, she grew comfortable enough to open her fingers.

She did so slowly, fearful that whatever she'd grabbed was little more than a piece of glass from a warning light, or some fragment of the cockpit. As she unclosed her glove, the dirt and pebbles that had come along in her haste fell to the floor of the warthog. What remained was a worn and yellowed piece of paper. One corner was folded outward, revealing the red coloring that had caught her attention in the first place. Carefully unfolding it, she saw that it was a photograph.

Two Red Army soldiers stood side by side, holding their helmets between them and merrily waving to the photographer. The one on the left was a woman she recognized; the other was a man she felt she'd never seen before. They stood close together in the middle of a sparse field, the sun shining down on them and glinting off a Red Base in the background.

Turning the picture over, Crash noticed neat cursive writing finely scrawled on the back. It read:

"KC,

"Don't let what happened keep you from remembering all the good times you had with Sam. I know what he meant to you, and trying to forget isn't going to do you any good. Trust me on that.

"I will find a way to see you again,

"D."

Looking at the picture once more, she squinted at the face of the woman, trying to figure out exactly where she'd seen her before. Only after a minute did she realize it had been when she'd examined herself in the mirror that morning.

She gasped, "It's me!" Turning it over yet again, she reread the note. "KC," she muttered to herself, testing it out on her tongue.

Donut glanced away from the road to see what she was mumbling about. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Crash nodded, hiding her find from view. "I'm good," she answered. "Feeling a lot better now."

"Well, we're almost back to base," he told her. "Then we can get you to a medic to get that shoulder checked out."

Nodding again, she leaned her head back against the seat. Her name was KC.


	9. The Bitter Truth

_United Armies of Chorus FOB. 0845 hrs._

Not knowing where else to go, Tucker wandered around base. Although Church had seemingly disappeared, his presence within Tucker's mind was all too evident.

"Man, this is fucked up," the AI grumbled in his head. "Since when is Kimball such a hard-ass?"

Tucker didn't answer. He was too busy trying to push down thoughts of the mole so as not to alert his friend. Instead, he hid his struggle behind anger at the rebel leader for putting him in such a compromising position in the first place. Shouldn't she have figured that the little blue guy might hitch a ride with him? It's not like he hadn't before.

"This is all just fucking bullshit, dude," Tucker muttered. He became suddenly aware of just how frustrated he felt and the fact that he wasn't hiding it very well. His fists clenched and unclenched as his heavy boots shuffled disdainfully through the dirt. Passerby gave him a wide berth, as if his quiet fury was a physical thing.

Part of him reveled in the seeming power of it all; the fact that his temper alone could cause such a reaction from the people around him. After joining the rebels and taking on the role of squad-leader, he'd gotten used to the idea of being respected. Now, he was beginning to catch on to what it must be like to be feared.

The other part of him, better or worse, he didn't know, felt nothing but anxious. Church's words still echoed on an endless loop in his brain: " _I'm supposed to be the angry one around here! And you're supposed to be the pervy one! That's how this works!"_

He'd said it from the beginning: he was a lover, not a fighter. But all he'd done since the crash was stew in his own rage. And Kimball was right; taking it out on Grif, on anyone for that matter, wasn't going to do any good. Honestly though? How in hell could he hope to manage his anger when he couldn't even explain to himself why he felt it? How could he justify the hatred he had for Crash when not even he could understand?

The back and forth struggle with Church hadn't helped. Sure, they'd never _really_ gotten along. But lately the animosity behind the harsh words was all too real.

" _Admit that the reason you're so upset is because Wash left you just like I did."_

The words played back again and that familiar knot in his stomach returned. Was Church right?

Deep, deep down, Tucker knew that it had to be at least partly true; the words had stung too much to be entirely false. But that realization made him even more irate. Leave it to the fucking computer program to figure out what was wrong before he did, and leave it to fucking Church to be a dick about it.

But the whole damned premise of it all...how the hell could he admit that? How could he admit to the AI that he wasn't just scared, he was petrified at the thought, of losing Wash.

He'd gotten used to Church being dead. Hell, he died all the time! But then he was gone...legit, up and left, flew the coop, hit the highway, see ya never, gone. And his absence had affected Tucker more than he cared to remember.

The one thing, maybe the only thing, that had made that gut-wrenching, fuck-the-world loneliness subside even a little, had been Washington.

He wasn't the best friend in the world by any means...In fact, Wash kind of sucked at that. But he had made one thing abundantly clear after joining the blues: he wasn't going anywhere. That, in and of itself, had given Tucker the most peace of mind; at least Wash would be there when shit hit the fan.

" _At least wait until tomorrow. It's almost dark, and we've been picking up Felix's guys out here for weeks."_

" _What if Caboose is right? What if there's somebody out there?"_

" _There are people out there! Bad guys!"_

" _I'm going," Wash told him stubbornly._

Dammit! He should have gone with him! Why hadn't he gone with him?

" _He's…he's not okay. He's in a coma."_

The words echoed through his mind.

" _Care to explain what's going on?"_

" _I just…"_

" _Do you even know?"_

Maybe at that point he hadn't...but now the truth stung like a son-of-a-bitch:

_I don't want to be alone again._

"Oh my god, dude. Do you really feel like that?" An annoying voice broke his reverie.

Tucker stopped in his tracks. "What?"

Oh no. He'd forgotten about Church being inside his head.

"Tucker…?" the AI's voice was laced with something the teal soldier wasn't used to: concern.

"I know you're like, in my head and stuff...but you can't hear everything I'm thinking about, can you?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

An awkward silence followed. "...Not...not _everything_ …" Church started, "Just the stuff you project…"

Shit. "So…"

"You've been projecting...a lot."

Shit!

The AI popped back up on his shoulder before floating to his front to face him. "Tucker, you're not alone, man."

The blue soldier looked away.

"You know that, right?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he replied, agitated.

"You've got Caboose, and the Reds. I can't say Carolina cares for you that much...but Kimball's pretty fond of you.." Church started rambling.

Tucker walked through the holographic figure and continued on his way to nowhere in particular.

"And then there's the lieutenants," Church began, his image catching up to Tucker.

The AI went on and on, but neither one of them could ignore the fact that he never mentioned himself. They both knew the day would come when Carolina would leave for good and that Church would go with her, leaving Tucker alone once again. It was all just a matter of time.

Finally, after the program had run out of anything else to say, he muttered, "I'm sorry."

Tucker swallowed back the emotions that had been swelling in his chest. "Yeah...me too."

* * *

Neither of the blues were surprised when they'd wound up just outside of a particular ward in the medibay. Tucker'd spent the majority of the last few weeks sitting there beside his friend, waiting, hoping, for him to wake up.

As he pushed through the swinging double doors, he was surprised to see a figure sitting in his usual spot. Church popped up on his shoulder, the holographic image folding it's arms indignantly. "What are you doing here?" the AI hissed.

Kimball stood, sighing, before addressing the pair. "I came to apologize," she said. Then, looking back down towards the comatose freelancer, "I figured you'd end up here eventually."

Tucker ignored her gaze as Church spoke for the both of them, "Yeah, well, apology not accepted."

Kimball looked up in surprise, "Excuse me?"

Even Tucker couldn't help but turn to the little blue man on his shoulder.

"You chewed us out in front of the whole freaking army, you bitch!” Church's voice raised in pitch.

"Uh," Tucker started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "Church…"

Kimball's friendly posture shifted into one befitting her rank and stature. "I'm going to choose to ignore that last comment," she said, although it was clear that her mood didn't agree.

"He doesn't speak for me," Tucker added, attempting to stay on what was left of Kimball's good side.

She sighed deeply yet again. "It's fine," she assured the turquoise soldier. "Church is right."

"I am?"

"I berated you in front of your team and half the soldiers on this base."

Tucker remained silent, and Church had even managed to quell his tongue. She had spoken so pointedly that it had confused the two. Was she trying to get at something?

"In fact," she continued, "Word of our little spat has already spread throughout the base. Everyone knows Captain Tucker and his AI friend are suspended for hostility and insubordination. The very same Captain Tucker who has been on-edge, and unpredictable ever since Agent Washington's return."

A moment of silence passed between the three before Church spoke up, "I don't get it."

"The same Captain Tucker who is now confined to base while almost _every other soldier_ is out on assignment."

She was practically pleading with them.

Tucker finally shook his head. "Look, I don't know if you realize who you are talking to," he told her, "But we are not gonna be picking up whatever the hell you're putting down any time soon."

"No one is around. You have full reign of the entire base. And anyone left will be too afraid of you to get in your way or ask any questions." There it was, the best she could manage.

The blues stared at her uncomfortably. "I know she's trying to tell us something…" Church muttered into Tucker's head. Tucker squinted at her, wracking his brain, until-

"Oh!" he blinked, finally understanding. "Oh, shit. You want me to look into that thing…that thing that we talked about…"

"What thing?" the AI asked, but Tucker ignored him.

Kimball sighed in relief before stepping forward to leave. Passing Tucker on the way out, she put her hand on his shoulder. "You have three days before the convoy gets back."

"What about him?" Tucker pointed to the glowy man.

"Can he help you or not?" she asked.

"Well, yeah...I guess. Wait, did you plan this?"

"Three days," she repeated before continuing out the door.

"Holy shit," Tucker muttered, "She planned this whole thing."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Church asked frustratedly.

He turned to Church, projecting his thoughts for the AI to read, "She's leaving us here so we can find the mole."

"What mole?"

* * *

_The Mole. UAC Convoy. Highway 270. 1600 hrs._

"No, I don't know what's on the convoy. Don't you think that if I knew I would have told you by now?" he asked impatiently.

"Watch your tone," Locus commanded before adding, "What about the girl?"

"What girl?"

"The girl that was with the other red team!"

"The girl from the crash?"

Locus growled in affirmation.

"What about her?"

"What was she doing out on the field? Has she started to remember anything?"

"Look, man, I don't know. I only know what I'm told, which isn't a whole lot in her case. Jenkins said she'd joined up with the Reds, but I didn't-"

"Didn't what? Think that was pertinent information?!"

"I didn't know! I hadn't confirmed it."

"Can you confirm it now?" Locus asked coolly.

"Grif, and Simmons, it's all they've talked about since we left base."

"Has. She. Remembered?"

Knowing there were only so many times he could repeat "I don't know," he shook his head. "I...Not that I'm aware of. From what I've heard, she can't even remember her name."

Locus sighed thoughtfully, taking in the information before replying, "I expect to hear your check in at the next stop. In the meantime, find out what you're transporting."

Before the flustered double agent could reply, Locus had ended the transmission. "Shit," he muttered before someone behind him got his attention.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Caboose reassured him, "Sometimes I like to talk to myself too."

He swallowed nervously, "Riiigghht." Because that's exactly what's going on here.

* * *

_Location Unknown. 1600 hrs._

Locus stood in what seemed to be a command center of some kind, although the room was rather small and dark, on top of still being in construction. Video monitors lined each wall and were surrounded by various control panels and gauges. As the feed to the UAC's convoy cut out from the main screen, he turned to one of the three engineers who were currently installing machinery throughout the room.

"What a pitiful excuse for a soldier," he said venomously. The mercenary's gaze fell on the lackey's hands as they continued to wire up more equipment. "Fortunately, once we have this installation up and running, he'll have outlived his usefulness."

"You really think it'll work?" the grunt let out in reprieve, turning to look at the surrounding room. They'd been working on it for months.

Locus glared down at him. "It has to."


	10. The Lucky Charms (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of graphic violence this chapter.

_United Armies of Chorus FOB. 1800 hrs._

A pair of medics were waiting for them when Red Team One pulled into the garage. Donut was quick to help them pull Crash out of her seat while Sarge shouted orders and grunts up from the turret.

"Really, I'm fine," Crash protested as they planted her onto the awaiting gurney.

One of the medics had already stripped the armor away from her shoulder, while the other double checked her vitals. "We'll take her from here," the second told Sarge, ignoring Crash completely.

As they wheeled her off Donut gave her a half hearted wave.

While most of the surgical team gathered to patch up Crash and were joined by Dr. Grey and her assistants, the rest of the medibay was virtually empty. As such, no one was present to notice a slight spike in Agent Washington's vital signs…

* * *

" _Lucky Charms! On me!" Captain Brickman commanded, whispering harshly. Despite his efforts to keep quiet, his nasal baritone seemed to rumble through the dense air that surrounded the squad._

_They'd been in the jungles for almost three weeks now, hunting down rogue Covenant troops that had fled after the UNSC took out their supply base. It was bad enough being surrounded by alien flora and fauna, but the humidity...that was something else entirely. The marsh was hot and damp beyond anything the ODST squad had encountered, and the canopy above them was so thick that backup thermal imaging was necessary to see even during the day. Now that it approached nightfall, the heat became less of an issue, but the darkness was an ever growing obstacle._

_Visibility was close to nothing as the squad huddled in on their CO's command. "Is anyone else bothered by the fact that our squad is named after breakfast cereal?" he glanced down briefly at the pot of gold painted on his shoulder, shaking his head._

" _You're just jealous you didn't get a cool name," a purple-clad figure responded._

" _This coming from a man who goes by 'Rainbows?' I don't think jealousy's the problem."_

" _Can it, Goldylocks," Brickman ordered._

" _It's Pot O' Gold," he grumbled, so that only Red Balloons could hear. The other man snickered._

" _Martinez, Locke, and Patterson," the Captain continued, "I want you to sweep north. We haven't covered that ground yet, and I don't want to be caught off guard. Dobbins, pair up with Bismark to take point." He nodded to the man with the sniper rifle and a shooting star emblem on his chest, "The rest of us will follow you to the lights you saw."_

_Bismark exchanged his sniper for the DMR on his back, "Yessir."_

" _Lieutenants with me!" Brickman ordered, and he and 'Loons stepped forward. "Sweets, watch our backs."_

" _You got it," the pink, heart-clad trooper stepped in behind them._

" _Comms check. Sound off!" 'Loons ordered._

_Martinez: "Horseshoe, copy."_

_Locke: "Clovers, copy."_

_Dobbins: "Blue Moon, copy."_

_Patterson: "Rainman, copy."_

_Bismark: "Star, copy."_

_Sweets: "Sweetheart, copy."_

_Loons' nudged his elbow, "C'mon, Davey."_

_He sighed, "Pot O' Gold, copy."_

" _Lucky Leader, copy," Brinkman sounded._

" _Red 'Loon, copy," was the last name to be called._

_With that, Horseshoe, Clovers, and Rainbows made their way north. Bismark and Blue began their trudge to the east, while the rest of LC Squad followed._

" _Seriously, who came up with this, Gill?" he asked 'Loons. "And why do I have to be Pot O' Gold?! What does that even mean?"_

" _Aw, quit yer complaining. Would you rather be called 'Sweetheart?'"_

" _Hey, I heard that!"_

" _Well I wasn't exactly mumbling, now, was I?" 'Loons retorted before turning back to him. "Seriously, man. I think you_ lucked out _on that one." He chuckled._

" _Assaulting me with puns now? As if bullets weren't enough!"_

" _Would you both just shut up already?" Bismark put in his two cents._

" _Why is everyone listening in on our conversation?" he asked frustratedly._

" _Maybe because you two idiots forgot to turn your comms off," Brickman suggested. "Now, shut up and fall back in line. I need your eyes open right now."_

* * *

" _Look, Gilly. I get that you want to get out of here, but is this really the best way to do it?" he asked his friend._

_Gilligan O'Gill sat across the cafe table. They both stared at the datapad he'd produced from his pack and laid before them. David hadn't seen more than the UNSC logo on the corner, but he knew exactly what this was._

" _What other way is there, Davey?" the man said, his slight Irish accent coming through a little more than usual._

" _Well, I don't know! But there's gotta be something. And hey, even if we don't go off planet, there're plenty of places here already-"_

" _You know that's not the same! I wanna see space! I wanna explore worlds! You can't do that sitting on the same rock your whole life. This," he pointed to the pamphlet. "This could be our way out."_

_David looked at his friend skeptically. "You want to be an explorer now? This has nothing to do with Lana?"_

_Gilly looked hurt at the suggestion before sighing dramatically. "I won't lie to you, David; of course it's got something to do with Lana. But not everything. Not enough to not consider the possibilities." He slid the pad closer to his reluctant friend. "Don't you think we owe it to ourselves to do what our parents couldn't? We could leave this backwater planet."_

_David grabbed the pad, taking the time to read through the pamphlet. He scoffed, "ODSTs? Gill, in what universe are we capable of being 'elite commandos?'"_

" _Why couldn't we be? Seriously? What's stopping us-"_

" _Let me rephrase that: In what universe am_ I _capable of being an 'elite commando?'"_

" _You handled yourself fine against Mitch Blakely."_

" _We were twelve!"_

" _All the same, that was one for the ages, mate."_

_David shook his head. "I'm not a fighter, Gill."_

" _Then let's appeal to Davey's altruisms: The Covenant are gaining more ground in this galaxy every fucking day. You saw what they did to Arcadia. What happens if they come here next? You've got family to think of."_

_Gilly received a harsh glare for this. "You bastard. You want to appeal to my 'altruisms,' then start taking this seriously!" He set the datapad back on the table. "Sure, joining up will get you off this rock, but what then, Gilly? You're talking about a war, against aliens no less! Do you know how many people come back from something like that? Not very many."_

" _Why the hell is that a problem? You've said it yourself almost every day since I've known you: there's nothing for you here. Now you've got a chance to do something, and you're getting all yellow about it."_

" _There's a difference between cowardice and fear. And damn right, I'm afraid. Because you're right, I have my family to think of. What happens when one of us get's killed? Are you gonna be the one to tell Lana I'm gone? Am I going to have to be the one to tell her that you got disintegrated by some weird alien shit?"_

" _Can we please not talk about your fucking sister?"_

" _Hey, you brought it up. I'm just trying to be realistic. Because the goddamn truth is this: we do this," he pointed back down to the pad, "the odds are, we're not coming back alive."_

" _And what's the alternative, David?" Gilly raised his voice, "This?! Take a good hard look around you," he spread his arms out wide, "Is all this really worth living for?"_

_Dave rubbed the bridge of his nose stressfully._

" _Do you want to've spent your entire life in this hellhole, dying little by little each and every day? Or do you want to go out there," he pointed to the sky, "and_ live _just once?"_

" _Dammit, Gill," he bowed his head._

_Gilligan O'Gill suppressed a smile._

" _I don't want to do this," he pleaded for good measure, but they both knew how this was going to go._

_Gilly grabbed the datapad and put it in his pack. "The recruiter's only gonna be here 'til tomorrow. We better go now."_

_He sighed, then followed his friend. "Bastard."_

" _Asswipe."_

* * *

_LC Squad made it back to base, tired as hell, but none the worse for wear. The lights Bismark had seen turned out to be another patrol squad. Someone in command had fucked up and sent in double the troops necessary to sweep the area. As such, the Lucky Charms were ordered to return to base and let the other squad take over._

_Heading to the barracks after a very brief debrief, he and 'Loons waved goodnight to the enlisted men. They were half way home when they received a message from Brickman to report back to the debriefing room._

" _What's all this about?" David wondered aloud._

_Gilly was visibly upset. He grumbled about wasted time and sleep as he followed his friend back the way they'd come._

_As the sliding double doors swooshed open for them, they saw the solemn faces of their CO and one Major Jeremy Toplin. The lieutenants entered before standing at attention._

" _At ease," Toplin commanded, his voice much softer than the gruff Brickman's. "Lieutenants, Captain Brickman has informed me that you both hail from Sansar."_

" _Yes, sir," Gilly answered._

_The Major sighed tiredly, before leaning on his hands against the table. "I've got some bad news for you boys."_

_As the Major rambled on, the only two words David made out from him were "no" and "survivors."_

" _N-not even an evac sh-ship?" he interrupted the Major's condolences. "Sir," he added on, remembering who he was talking to._

_Captain Brickman shook his head woefully._

_He was glad to've been wearing his helmet, so as the officers could not see the tears streaking down his cheeks. "W-w-will that b-be all, s-sir?"_

_Major Toplin nodded, dismissing the Lieutenants. Captain Brickman stepped forward, as if to speak, but the Major held his hand up, stopping him. Losing family is one thing, but a whole planet? That's inconsolable._

_He and Gilly leaned into each other on the way out, neither knowing who was holding up who. They stumbled through the base that way, but as they came upon their room the two kept walking. Soon, they found themselves at the edge of the treeline. All that laid before them was foilage and swamp, echoing the sounds of insects and reptiles through the dense night air._

_Finding the nearest tree with his hand, David leaned against it, sliding down until he hit the soft ground. Gilly stood nearby, wordless. Minutes passed as the still beings became one with the forest, until a man's voice, screaming in agony, rang out through the trees. He watched his friend through tear-blurred eyes as he fell to his hands and knees, sobbing and out of breath._

" _G-gill?" he spoke softly. "What're we gonna do?"_

* * *

" _Medic!" He heard a voice in the distance, screaming for help. "Medic!"_

" _We're coming, Rain!" he yelled back, trying to mask the desperation in his tone. "Just hold on a little longer!"_

_Gilly swore up and down beside him. "We're pinned down! No way we make it over there in time."_

" _Medic!"_

_He peeked around the tree to try and see their squadmate, laying down some suppressive fire as he looked. As the enemy returned fire, he ducked back, falling into Gill's shoulder. "Well, we have to do something!" he responded._

" _Dammit! Where's Horseshoe?"_

" _Medic!"_

_He shook his head. "He needs to stop yelling. He's only making himself an easier target."_

" _Medic!"_

" _We hear you, already! Shut the hell up!" Gill yelled. "Star! You have eyes on Rain?"_

_Their comms buzzed before the sniper replied, "Negative, 'Loons. He's surrounded by Covenant."_

" _What about-"_

_There was another buzz as a third transmission interrupted their link, "-unter! Captain Brinkman is down! I repeat, Captain Brinkman is-shit!"_

" _Medic!"_

" _Dammit, Patterson! Shut the fuck up!" he yelled._

" _Blue!" Gill screamed into comms, "Blue, what's going on?!"_

" _Bismark, do you have eyes on them?" he asked._

" _Oh god, Pots. Clovers and Horseshoe look like fucking puddles. Blue and Sweetheart are fighting a hunter alone. I have to get in there."_

" _Hold your position," he replied._

" _Lieutenant, I-"_

" _You're our only eyes out here, Star. I can't risk losing you, so stay in your position!"_

" _...Yessir."_

" _Guide us to them, Star," Gill ordered._

" _What about Rainbows?" he asked._

_They sat listening for a moment, but Clive Patterson's cries for a medic had ceased._

" _Fuck,” Gill muttered so that only he could hear. "We're too late for him. We need to get to the girls," he said resolutely._

_David nodded. He watched as the balloon crested soldier set up his flamethrower attachment. "Going in hot, huh?" he commented, reloading his own battle rifle and prepping his ammo for quicker reloads._

" _Hell yeah!"_

* * *

" _We keep going, Davey," Gill sniffed, wiping the built up mucus from his nose and mouth and flicking it off his hand. His voice was hoarse from screaming. "We do what they couldn't: we survive this freaking war."_

" _Gilligan, Lana...she's…"_

" _Dead."_

_Closing his eyes, he dug his back into the tree, feeling the rough bark grind against his shoulder blades. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. He heard a rustling of leaves and then felt a body plop down next to him, leaning into his shoulder. Gilly sniffed again, and David turned to look at him._

" _I don't know if I can do it," he muttered._

_There was a moment of silence between them before Gilly opened his mouth, singing quietly, "... '_ I've paid my dues _.'"_

" _Oh no."_

"'Time after time _...'" Gill continued, his voice raspy and flat._

" _Seriously this isn't the-"_

" _..._ I've done my sentence _-' C'mon, sing it with me!"_

" _No!"_

"' _-_ But committed no crime!' _David!"_

_He sighed, "'...'_ And bad mistakes…"

" _Yes! There it is!-'_ I've made a few _!'"_

_Together: "'_ I've had my share of sand kicked in my face, but I've come through _!'"_

_Gill hopped to his feet, pulling David up with him. "You ready for this?!"_

" _This is so dumb."_

"'And we mean to go on,'" _Gilly lead them into the chorus, grabbing David by his shoulders and forcing them to sway back and forth, "'_ and on and on and on _!'"_

_It took effort for him to keep from smiling as they shouted their lungs out into the marsh, "'_ WEEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, MY FRIEND! AND WEEEE'LL KEEP ON FIGHTING, TILL THE END _!'"_

" _YOU HEARD ME MOTHER FUCKERS!" Gilly added interim._

_David laughed as they kept on, "'_ WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! WEEE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! NO TIME FOR LOSERS, 'CAUSE WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!'"

_Looking over, he saw that tears were streaming down Gill's face in waves, but his friend didn't stop singing. He knew then that Gill was feeling everything he felt, the pain, fear, and desperation; but he wasn't going to let it bring him down. The aliens could take his family, his friends, even his planet, but they sure as hell weren't going to take his soul._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't post this chapter on here for a long while because, mostly, I was kind of embarrassed by the little singing bit at the end. But, coming back and reading it after a year and a half break, it wasn't as cringe-y as I thought it would be. 
> 
> So, credit where it's due, the song is, of course, "We Are the Champions" by Queen. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Please, be the first to comment. (Wouldn't that be novel?)

**Author's Note:**

> 'Crash' was originally posted on FanFiction.net, and you can find up to Chapter 18 on that site under my username, SuperFYB. I'll be posting revised chapters here on AO3, so stay tuned for more!


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